


we are doomed (but just enough)

by jolybird



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Bodyswap, Gen, Kidnapping, M/M, Mentioned past overdose, very brief mention of past self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24030403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolybird/pseuds/jolybird
Summary: In a world filled to the brim with magic, Grantaire had none and, honestly? He was fine with it. He got into enough shit without the added trouble of trying to cast spells to make the Metro run smoother or enchant the dishes to wash themselves.See, for example, the morning he woke up in Combeferre's bed without any memory as to how he got there. To make matters worse, his friend was no where to be found. Except for, of course, when he looked into the mirror.;;Modern, Magical, Body Swap AU for Les Mis Quarantine Big Bang!
Relationships: Bahorel/Jean Prouvaire, Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 72
Collections: Les Mis Big Bang: Quarantine Edition





	we are doomed (but just enough)

**Author's Note:**

> Titled inspired by [Church](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l3vbvF8bQfI) by Fall Out Boy. 
> 
> This fic would quite honestly be quite garbage without my betas[ Ren ](https://soaringren.tumblr.com) & [Muse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/muse_in_absentia/pseuds/muse_in_absentia)!! My favorite type of betas are the ones that really make me think about what story I'm trying to tell and what I'm trying to actually say and they made editing this fic so much fun with all their input. Seriously, I had more fun editing than I did writing--thank you both so much for all your hard work making this monster of a fic readable. <333 Any mistakes you see are my own because I went rogue at the end. 
> 
> I don't even really have the words to say how much I adore [leonine_eagle's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonine_eagle) artwork for this fic. Not only is it absolutely gorgeous, but she captured the characters so well!! I get excited for this fic all over again every time I see it!. Please make sure you [check it out ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24028186) and let her know how incredible she is!
> 
> Thank you mods for running this Quarantine Big Bang! There are a lot of moving part for a fest like this but you've run things so smoothly it's been a dream! This month has been absolutely crazy (I started off the fest at home and now I'm back at work doing more overtime then I ever will again) but this fest has been so much fun!!!

* * *

On the corner of the street the Grantaire children grew up on, there was a woman who sold fortunes. They were small things—a smile, a nudge in the right direction, a knowing look, five pence to buy something sweet behind their parents back. There were big things too but those carried a different weight and the children weren’t allowed to see those. Or, at least, that’s how the story goes. Adults have good intentions but the world is too new, too unexplored, for children to listen. They go out, they adventure, they question. Children carry unintended consequences with them, fortunes that aren’t promised to them but their curious fingers caught all the same.

Both children were born on starry Sunday nights that gleamed with promise. Léonie was first, screaming herself hoarse and stomping her way through their tiny corner of Paris to pave way for her brother. Gaëtan delighted in the sparkle in the fortune-woman’s eyes, her kindness, the wishes falling effortless from her fingers. She enchanted their world and painted it in color. 

When the Joly’s moved in next door, what could Léonie and Gaëtan do but fold them into their adventures? Their group of two gained three more and their days became proper tales—knights and fae, princesses and pirates. The fortune woman spun them all butterflies and magpies and the ache in their sides from laughing too hard. She wove them countless fortunes to bind their loyalties to one another; fortunes about the future; fortunes about the past. 

Fortunes change, however, with sticky fingers and smiles too big to see the danger at their feet. 

The night the Grantaire children’s fates changed was one of the rare evenings they were alone. Adrien, Charlene, and Sonia Joly were safely tucked in bed, having been viciously struck down by the flu right as spring was blooming. It was Adrien’s first year of schooling and this was the third bout of the flu he had brought home to his younger sisters. Léonie and Gaëtan were older, heartier and when the sky broke open just past sunset, they had no fear as they snuck outside.

The night was full of thunder and lightning flashing without rain; it was powerful; it was exciting. Gaëtan held Léonie’s hand and they stood against the storm, foolish in their innocence, believing that the world was wide and open to them. This would be a tale to tell the others in the daylight.

Something terrible happened that night but no one—not their parents, not the police—knew what had occurred. Gaëtan and his sister’s memories of the night were gone and the fortune-woman with them, swallowed up in the space between waking. 

It wasn’t their fault but there was no one left to tell them that, and guilt always did have a sticky way of climbing into the cracks caused by doubt. It didn’t consume them but it became part of their foundation, winding around their bones so that they carried pieces with them forever. 

Gaëtan grew up magicless in a world of enchantments and divination. Soon even the younger Jolys surpassed him in the mundane. As he struggled to stay upright on his bike, the girls flew by him on nursery rhymes. They and his sister poked stones until they shone and leapt into the sky to evade capture during hide-and-seek. Adrien, oldest at home yet the center of their group, made sure the odds were even. He would throw Gaëtan into the air during games of tag until they were all grounded. But he couldn’t be there for everything and Gaëtan spent the rest of his childhood bumping from one limitation to the next. 

His sister could do practical things, zip her dresses up with a flick of her wrist, steal the remote with a stretch of her fingers. His father could brew the most amazing of potions and create soups out of empty cupboards. His mother once spelled Gaëtan’s teacher’s car door shut because he said Gaëtan was dull and wouldn’t amount to much of anything at all. Eventually the entire car had to be sold for scrap and Gaëtan learned his multiplication tables out of spite (half his mother’s, half his own). 

Léonie swore he had magic before the night the fortune woman became a dream, but if he did, it wasn’t anything worth remembering. Maybe he had thrown a teddy bear across the room in a fit of toddler rage or maybe he had once magicked Adrien’s window open so he could hear him shouting to come and play. Nothing grand; nothing to be proud of. After a while it was easier to forget, to let the past vanish in a flash and rumble. Growing up meant that there were other things for the Grantaire and Joly children to worry about. Illness and growing, prejudice and hatred, love and the future. There wasn’t time to dwell on childhood dreams, not in this world. 

* * *

Grantaire woke with a start and groaned. Rolling over, he pulled the blanket up over his shoulders, squeezing his eyes shut against the bright daylight. He tried to fall back asleep but the fortune-woman’s face—blurry and half imagined— was at the forefront of his mind this morning and her memory always chased away sleep. 

Left with only a cold, hollowed-out feeling in his bones, he sighed, rubbed his eyes and threw his covers off of him, the first attack at a day that had come too soon. It was for the best he was up early anyway—the special election was nearing and he and his friends had been working their asses off for too long to drop the ball now. If their candidate—Baptistine Myriel, who had been persuaded to run by Cosette—won, there’d be votes enough to pass the much needed legislation that required all hospitals and clinics to have mermish maternity capabilities. It was outrageous that some Parisian hospitals didn’t provide so much as a blow up kiddie pool. Too many children were born gasping in the back of cars trying to find a clinic or midwife or had to be rushed to a _sink_. 

Honestly, the thought of a local special election having this kind of impact over his life was crazy, but his fate had been sealed the day Joly had begged him to go with him to this political club neither of them had known the name of. A cute boy had invited him and Joly refused to go without backup. Out of all the things Joly and their assorted sisters dragged him into, Grantaire was both amused and relieved that that is the one that stuck. Who would have guessed a political club was where they would find the friends that lasted? Who would have guessed the cute boy would end up being Bossuet who fit into their lives like a piece they hadn’t known they were missing? Well, the fortune-woman, probably but she hadn’t stuck around long enough to warn them, did she? 

Standing, the hardwood floor was cold on his feet and when he stretched, his back cracked and his leg throbbed. He kept his eyes shut against the vicious light assaulting his vision. He didn’t remember leaving the curtains open last night. As a matter of fact, he didn’t know his room _could_ get this bright _._ When he, Bossuet, and Joly moved into Belleville he had loved how dark the room was—back then he had been working nights at a newspaper and needed all the sleep he could get. Prouvaire had gotten him the job and the two of them spent more time chasing ghosts in the haunted basement than they did working. 

He put a hand over his face, sighed, and then lowered it. Squinting, he glanced around the room—two of the walls had large windows, three on the one to his left, two on the one in front of him. The walls were painted a light blue with lighter curtains and, you know what, this was _not_ his bedroom.

There was a dark brown desk with neat stacks of books and papers, a shadow box with what looked like the ugliest butterflies Grantaire had ever seen hung about it. What the shit? Where the fuck was he? He turned around to look at the bed but it was empty. The sheets were tucked in, which was more than he could ever say for his own bed. Okay, so this was good, the bed didn’t look fucked in. And there was no one else to complicate things. Best to find a shirt and get out of here before they rematerialized (hopefully not literally—that had happened to him once and he had nearly thrown himself from the sixth story window in sheer shock). Grantaire sucked in a breath, looking for his shirt and mutely realizing the sleep pants he wore weren’t his either and, for some reason, it was only then that he realized he had been _squinting_ -squinting at everything. At first he thought it was because it was so bright but no, he seriously couldn’t see. Glancing around, he found a pair of glasses on the night stand and when he reached for them, he realized his skin was darker than it had been yesterday.

What the shit?

What the fuck had he gotten himself into and why couldn’t he remember?

So his track record right now wasn’t the best—he had recently challenged a group of university students to a drinking contest and won nothing but acute alcohol poisoning (they had to have cheated but no one would hear his argument). Two weeks ago he and Combeferre had gone after some of Gavroche’s father’s thugs who were going after the twelve year old for something he had done. It had ended with Grantaire waking up on Combeferre and Enjolras’ couch. Joly’s face had had streaks of blood on it and it took several disorienting moments to realize it was his own blood and not Joly’s. He still couldn’t look at him for longer than a glance. 

Enjolras and him had fought over his self preservation skills, an argument that had drawn Combeferre in as well (what had they been thinking picking a fight with Thénardier’s men?) and things weren’t great between any of them right now. In his and Combeferre’s defense, it hadn’t been premeditated. They were messing with Gavorche and they just reacted. 

If he had fucked up yet again his friends were going to kick his ass. 

Pushing down a growing wave of panic, he picked up the glasses and squinted at them _._ There was something oddly familiar about them, something that reminded him of—oh wait—these looked like Combeferre’s glasses. He put them on and then looked around the room again. 

Oh. 

He was in Combeferre’s room.

He _knew_ Combeferre’s room and, okay, he also knew for certain he had slept in his own bed last night. Putting his hands on his hips, he took a deep breath to gather his thoughts. He was in Combeferre’s room. Combeferre wasn’t here. He was freaking out and needed to calm down. He was in Combeferre’s room which meant that, even if he couldn’t remember how he got here, he was safe. 

A thought was nagging at him but, no, absolutely not. Between his darker complexion and suddenly needing glasses that looked like Combeferre’s…and—waking up in Combeferre’s room...

There was a mirror next to the door and Grantaire took several steps towards it. His legs felt weird, his _shoulders_ felt weirder. He stopped an inch out of sight of the mirror. Then he took a breath and stepped in front of it. 

Combeferre’s reflection stared back at him and for the lack of anything rational to do, he screamed, ducking out of sight.

He stood in the middle of Combeferre’s room, in Combeferre’s body, pulse racing. His mind went completely blank and he squeezed his eyes shut as if that would make all of this go away. 

Okay. Okay. Okay. 

He was—

Okay. 

The front door slammed open and Grantaire’s own strangled voice was suddenly screaming, “Grantaire! Grantaire are you in here?” Oh, thank Maeve he wasn’t alone in this. 

Grantaire opened his eyes, wrenched open the bedroom door and came face to face with his own shocked reflection—well, no, this wasn’t a reflection and that was his problem. 

“Combeferre?” he asked after a moment where he watched himself run a hand through his hair and rub the bridge of his nose like he had attempted to push glasses up. He sighed in relief, okay that was totally Combeferre possessing his body. The possibility hadn’t even occurred to him until this moment but their friends could have been scrambled between themselves. He could be looking at Bahorel or Prouvaire or Courfeyrac—literally anyone. But no one else was in the habit of constantly pushing their glasses up like that and just switching two people? That wasn’t quite as big magic. 

“I— _yeah_ .” Combeferre sighed, “you _are_ Grantaire right? I didn’t think...”

Grantaire nodded, “How’d you get in?”

“Enjolras didn’t lock the door on his way out.”

Enjolras— _shit_ . Grantaire looked around as if expecting him to just appear (he _might—_ he was _Enjolras)_ and Combeferre took a step towards him.

Grantaire watched Combeferre twist his lips in a thoughtful frown. “He isn’t here. He’s in class. Well, if he’s decided to go today.”

Grantaire scowled at how completely and totally unhelpful that was—was he about to pop out of the drapery or _not_? “What does that mean?”

“Lamarque has open office hours now and sometimes Enjolras decides his time is better spent talking to her rather than just sitting in Theory of Celestial Resistance.” 

Grantaire had been done with university for a couple years now but some of the others, Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Cosette and Combeferre were in the process of getting their masters. He never paid much attention to the magical aspects of university, the class names and theories flew over his head—they didn’t have any relevance to his life so why should he bother? He had his friends and he had a job at one of his favorite museums and no one cared he couldn’t so much as send a good luck charm via text. So really, that mentality had served him fine. 

He watched with a sort of freaked out curiosity as his body looked around the room, eyes wild and lips pressed tightly together, and then took a deep breath. “Okay, breakfast, tea and then we figure this out.” Combeferre clapped his hands together in front of him and, really, Grantaire sort of wished someone else was here to witness this because it was wild. 

Enjolras and Courfeyrac had taken an Intro to Time Travel course back in the day and it, honestly, made them a little crazy. After finals, the professor had taken them back ten minutes in time to watch themselves taking the exam and they had both talked about it for weeks. Grantaire had teased them mercilessly at the time—how shocking could it be watching yourself take a written exam? But...karma came at you in mysterious ways because he was totally losing his cool over watching himself look around the room. 

“I’ll put the kettle on.” Grantaire said a little hoarsely, not liking that he pushed himself to Combeferre’s feet and used Combeferre’s legs to walk down the hall. One foot after another, careful of his stride. Their bodies were shaped differently and thus they walked differently and this was fucking wild. His lack of magic meant he had taken an overabundance of electives in school and so the practical aspects of spells weren’t something he really thought about. It had served him well thus far but...this might make him regret not paying attention. 

Combeferre noticed his revelation and sighed. It was almost a laugh. “If it makes you feel better, I tripped four times walking down your hall. I think Bossuet might think you’re wasted. He was very strange about letting me outside and he made me text him a picture of the flat when I got here.” 

“You stumbled out of my flat, hell bent on getting to your and Enjolras’ apartment, and you’re wondering why Bossuet thought that was strange.” Grantaire hissed. Bossuet was an absolutely terrible best friend for letting him go. 

“Well. It’s certainly not the strangest thing that’s happened to us.” Combeferre said, digging through the fridge for something for breakfast. He pulled out a jar of Enjolras’ favorite rhubarb jam. Grantaire had been expressly forbidden to eat it after he finished a jar after a long night of talking to spirits. They had all been tired and Enjolras had nearly strangled him when he realized he had been beaten to it. Prouvaire had convinced Feuilly (who was Prouvaire’s adoptive brother and thus was used to the ghostly shit his little brother got up to), Enjolras (who never passed on a chance to help someone) and Grantaire (who had been a little tipsy and not aware of what he was agreeing to) to help him with a poltergeist at a cemetary of all places. There had been so many ghosts just hanging about chit chatting with Grantaire as the other three chased the poltergeist about. Honestly, he didn’t want to see another ghost ever again. Prouvaire attracted ghosts like Bossuet did bad luck, so Grantaire knew he wasn’t going to get his wish but what was the use of wishes if not to dream them? 

So, yeah, Enjolras had almost killed him over this jam once.But in both of their defense, Bahorel’s mother made it from scratch and thus it was in limited supply. 

He looked at the jam in his hands as Combeferre sliced some bread and couldn’t stop himself from saying, “You know, if Enjolras walked in right now, he’d kick the shit out of _you_ and I’d still get some jam.” 

“I’m very glad you have your priorities in order.” Combeferre placed the bread on the table and cut up an orange for them to share. 

Grantaire immediately smothered a piece of bread in rhubarb jam. He took a bite and then felt like he was about to cry. “Why, now that I have free access to this, doesn’t it taste as good?” 

Combeferre frowned at him as he sat at the table. He took the piece from Grantarie’s hand, and then took a bite. “Oh, wow,” he said, “this _is_ great.” 

“I knew you were a demon.” Grantaire whispered, voice hoarse. Combeferre, taken aback, just blinked at him for a long moment trying to figure out how to reply. Before Combeferre regained his voice however, Grantaire pushed himself up and began pacing in front of the table, running his fingers through his—Combeferre’s—hair. “I knew there was no way you could just stay on top of a hundred things at once. And you keep Enjolras in line, which we all know is an impossible task—“

“Grantaire, calm down. I’m not a demon.” Hearing Combeferre’s calm patience in his own voice was freaking him out. 

“Explain how you’re possessing me, then.” Grantaire turned and narrowed his eyes at him. 

“How are you possessing me?” Combeferre replied immediately and popped a piece of orange into his mouth. Grantaire let his teeth click shut but Combeferre’s small smile let him know he knew he was trying to come up with an explanation.

“This is a spell.” Grantaire informed him calmly. 

“That’s correct.” Combeferre said slowly, folding his hands in front of him.

Grantaire blinked away from him when he realized he was staring again and thought that maybe you just weren’t meant to see your own face from this angle because panic was starting to well up inside him. He took a deep, steadying breath. Breathe in for six seconds, hold for two, breathe out for eight. “This is a spell. We can reverse it.” Grantaire told his face as he sat down again.

“Of course we can.” There was a small crooked smile on his face and Grantaire had to look away. 

Combeferre got up and turned the kettle on. He grabbed two mugs down and put a teabag in both. “Do you remember anything out of the ordinary yesterday?” 

Grantaire shook his head. He had actually been on his best behavior the last couple of days because Enjolras was still pissed at him, and it usually only took a few days of no mishaps for him to forgive him. “Do you think Enjolras would do this?” 

Combeferre laughed. It was weird to see yourself laugh. What right did your body have to have a good time without you? “No, I don’t think so, even if we really did piss him off this time. But as I said it was a spur of the moment thing and any one of us would have come to Gavroche’s defense like that.” 

“Thenardier’s men then?” Grantaire frowned. He hated getting involved with them because Éponine always looked at him like he was better than that. He hated people thinking that on principle. 

Combeferre shook his head. “It was weeks ago and it was such a little thing that—”

Grantaire glared at him, if it had been such a little thing, why had both Joly and their couch been covered in Grantaire’s blood?

“Well, little for them. Literally all Montparnasse did was flick his hand and send you flying. Éponine did mention he asked about you, remember?” Combeferre poured the water over the tea bags and then brought the cups back with him to the table. 

Sometimes Grantaire couldn’t believe Combeferre was on a first name basis with some of Thenardier’s men. Their friends got into all kinds of fucked up shit and sometimes knowing them did come in handy. Then again, sometimes he just completely forgot Éponine was the on-again, off-again heir to a crime ring so...he didn’t like spending time thinking about it. He liked Éponine as his favorite bartender, as his favorite person to canvas with because she wasn’t afraid to be rude to people’s faces and was always quick to call it a night. She wanted nothing to do with her parents anyway and did her best to keep her brother and sister away from them as well.

Combeferre ducked his head so he caught Grantaire’s eye and pulled him from his thoughts. “So it can’t be them. It has to be something else. What do you know about body swapping spells?” 

“Nothing.” Grantaire said immediately, putting his hands around his mug to warm them and then frowned. “Well, in Welsh mythology, Pwyll and Arawn trade places for a year.” Combeferre’s face fell and Grantaire continued hurriedly, “But hopefully we’re not bound by the same conditions. One of them had to defeat some enemy and the other couldn’t fuck the other’s wife. Let’s keep thinking.”

“How the hell do you know that?” Combeferre sounded impressed, even if he laughed a little. 

Grantaire shrugged. “I read a lot.” 

Combeferre sighed and shook his head, “You read a lot when other people are talking, then you interrupt them, you mean.”

“If you keep saying those words with my mouth you’re gonna give someone a stroke.” Grantaire told him dryly, narrowing his eyes. 

Combeferre rolled his eyes and got up, vanishing into his bedroom. He came back a moment later with a large stack of books. 

“Just a little light reading?” Grantaire raised his eyebrows and cleared off a spot on the table for the books. He took a sip of the tea, it was Combeferre’s Finals Brew which just meant it was a delicious mix of a calming potion and extra caffeinated black tea. 

“I know my friends and I like to be ready for anything. Remember when Prouvaire jinxed himself to only speak in limericks?” 

Grantaire picked up the book atop the pile, “I hold firm that he wasn’t jinxed.” 

Combeferre shook his head as he sat back down at the table. He froze and frowned suddenly. “What are we going to do about the meeting tonight?”

“Um. Go to it?” They obviously weren’t going to let a little thing such as switching bodies break Grantaire’s (accidental) perfect attendance record. The meeting tonight was for Baptistine’s campaign but Grantaire hadn’t missed any sort of meeting with their friends all the way back to the first one Joly dragged him to when they weren’t friends, just a ramshackled political club. He wasn’t excessively devout, it just worked out that way and it got funnier the longer it went on. 

Some expression Grantaire didn’t recognize crossed his face and Combeferre leaned forward. “Alright.”

“So, what are we going to do? Waltz in there and say—“

Combeferre put a finger up to silence him, “So—no. You’re not going to like this—“

Grantaire put his hand up and gestured to the room at large, “what makes you think I like any of this?”

Expertly ignoring the comment with a wave of his hand, Combeferre continued, “So, given the Thenardier incident and—remember how I didn’t join you at the bar last...Saturday I think it was?”

“I knew something was sketchy. Are you going to tell me what happened?” Grantaire took another sip of tea to fortify himself against whatever he was about to hear. 

Combeferre narrowed his eyes, “No. But, until we know for sure this isn’t our fault...could we keep this between us?”

“Shit, now you have to tell me what you did. Does it have to do with why your leg is sort of hurting me?”

“Yes and no but I’m not telling you.” 

Grantaire rolled his eyes, “I don’t remember anything out of the ordinary.”

“I don’t either, but—“

“If we did do something we can’t remember right now, it’d be strike three and, yeah, we can keep quiet. Until we, at least, have some sort of plan to fix this. Joly has that mishap scrapbook and I don’t want to give him time to take too many pictures.” 

Combeferre chuckled and shook his head, “Plus, I don’t really want to show up at Baptistine’s campaign meeting with our own problems.” 

“Yeah if we can keep our personal curses out of her shot at politics, it’d probably be for the best.” Grantaire drummed his fingers on the table. He liked Baptistine. She was stubborn and unafraid of political threats. “Plus I really want Bamatabois out of office, and not just so you all finally shut up about him.” Bamatabois was your quintessential disgusting rich, white and male career politician. Not a week went by that one of his friends wasn’t screaming about something he said or did. Grantaire was tired of the guy. 

Someone’s phone went off and Combeferre reached into his pocket, pulling out Grantaire’s phone. 

“Oh.” Grantaire said. If they were going to lay low with the whole spell business, he guessed they were going to have to hold onto each other’s phones?

Combeferre unlocked his phone with a swipe of his finger (Enjolras had been the one to charm his phone to unlock with a touch). “Why did Joly’s sister just text you frog drama update?”

“Um, because there’s frog drama going down at the zoo? Tell Charlene—no, give me my phone, I’ll tell her myself.” 

Combeferre let the phone go and just shook his head with a small smile. “Where’s my phone?”

“Wherever you left it last night?” Grantaire said without looking up, he fired back a text and then went to check his messages. Combeferre returned a moment later, eyes on his phone in his hands. “Oh, Enjolras went to class and then he’s going to Courfeyrac’s until the meeting.”

“Well that’s a convenient text, thanks Enjolras. He never texts me anything so concrete.”

For a moment, it looked like Combeferre had a comment and then he sat back down and held out his hand for Grantaire’s phone. He popped both phones out of their cases and then swapped them. “So no one gets suspicious.” That done, he handed the phone back and went to the books. He flipped through the pages and Grantaire did the same. 

In a perfect world, they’d happen upon a counter spell or charm or something. Currently, Grantaire was flipping through pages upon pages of love potions so they obviously weren’t in one. 

Combeferre read off a spell and then gasped, “you don’t have magic.” Combeferre looked at his hands and Grantaire leaned back as the words sunk in. 

“Oh, I think you mean I do.” He tapped the side of his mug to warm the tea up and it instantly steamed. “Oh, I could get used to—“

Without warning, the mug shattered and tea splattered everywhere. 

“You’re untrained. And I’ve grown into my powers—I think we should lay low with the magic.” Combeferre looked from the shattered mug to Grantaire’s hands, twisting his lips into a frown. He picked up his phone and typed something into it quickly. 

Children were only capable of small magics and they grew into larger enchantments as their strengths developed. Joly had actually once done a half-hearted thesis on a middle aged woman who lost her memories and the result on her magic was...not reassuring. To suddenly possess full adult powers with no way to control them was dangerous at best. 

Grantaire shook his hands, the tea had burnt him a little but nothing that would leave a mark. “You’re probably right. But—we can still try the memory potion? Well, no we can’t you need the—“

Combeferre reached out and took Grantaire’s hand, “we don’t need magic to figure out what’s going on.”

Grantaire nodded and pushed himself to his feet to clean up the mess. 

* * *

Together they spent the better part of the day researching spell after spell, curse after curse, but nothing was really matching up. They _did_ spend an embarrassing amount of time trying to walk like the other: Grantaire tended to hunch and Combeferre liked to gaze up at the sky. They both had laughed until their sides ached and then some. Combeferre documented every misstep into the notes app in his phone.  
When it came time to head out, Grantaire got dressed in good spirits. The whole walk to Baptistine’s headquarters, Grantaire was completely confident they could pull this off. 

Until they walked in. 

Grantaire immediately turned around to walk back out. He couldn’t do this. They’d take one look at them and realize exactly what was going on. Comeferre grabbed his arm and tugged him back to sit with Joly and Bossuet. There were actually quite a few people here, volunteers and campaign employees alike. It was a good sign and it worked out in Grantaire’s favor as well—the more people, the less focus on any weird behaviors or comments from the two of them. 

“Why are we stealing Combeferre today?” Joly asked without looking up from his phone. 

“Do we need a reason to sit with our friend?” Combeferre asked, kicking his feet up almost regally. 

Bossuet looked to Grantaire with a smirk. “It was Courfeyrac, wasn’t it?” 

“Courfeyrac didn’t do anything,” Grantaire said as neutrally as possible. He chanced a glance towards the man in question to see Courfeyrac frowning at him. Grantaire tried to smile encouragingly back. Courfeyrac smiled back instantly and, really, how was Combeferre so oblivious? The man was staring at him with heart-eyes.

Baptistine started the meeting and the smart thing to do was to keep quiet, but when did Grantaire ever do the smart thing? Whenever Enjolras spoke up and Grantaire had a question or comment, he went for it. He did try to frame his questions in a more optimistic, we-can-really-change-things kind of way, but if the look Combeferre was giving him was an indication, he wasn’t doing a great job at it. Combeferre glared daggers at him every time he opened his mouth to speak and eventually Joly noticed. He started cracking quiet jokes that made Combeferre laugh. 

Oddly, Enjolras glanced over and smiled softly at his body when his hand was covering his eyes. Huh, did he realize they weren’t who they were pretending to be or what? Maybe Enjolras could see through spells? It wouldn't surprise him. Nothing about Enjolras surprised him anymore because everything about him was surprising. 

Grantaire watched himself sit stiffly across from him, and watched as his body leaned back with his legs the tiniest bit sprawled. He just looked so stiff and uncomfortable that Grantaire bit his lip to keep from laughing. Combeferre looked over to him and sent him a look that told him he was doing a shit job as well. Grantaire tried to straighten his back but only puffed his chest out. Enjolras sent him a confused glance that he just shook his head at. Good thing he was always at least semi-aware of Enjolras, it gave him a chance of maintaining some semblance of Enjolras’ and Combeferre’s maybe-telepathic tendencies. Grantaire didn’t actually believe they were telepathic, certainly Combeferre would have mentioned that immediately when they decided to stay mum for now, but this would certainly put the matter to bed once and for all. 

Eventually, Grantaire zoned out, thinking about what he had done yesterday and how his leg was hurting. It was sort of a sprain? But mid-thigh. Very odd. Being Combeferre was odd. 

“Combeferre, you coming?” Enjolras called from across the room, pulling his coat on as he spoke to Bossuet. Grantaire blinked back to himself. Their table was mostly vacated with only Joly remaining with them. Grantaire watched Combeferre help him to his feet and hand him his cane which had fallen at some point. 

“Cheers, R.” Joly smiled and Combeferre did a silly sort of finger gun motion at him that had Joly cackling as we walked away. 

“Yeah, one moment.” Grantaire called to Enjolras and then he turned to glare at Combeferre, watching his lips turn up into a smirk. Grantaire widened his eyes and made a quiet, desperate noise. “I’m not going home with Enjolras.”

“You’re me so it looks like you’re cooking for the two of you.” Combeferre’s smirk turned into a worried frown and he looked him in the eye. “Actually, no, he’ll recognize your cooking. Go to the Indian place on the way to the apartment.”

“The one with the puke colored walls?”

Combeferre paused, and then his expression turned weary. “Thanks for that. I usually get the malai tikka and get Enjolras the aloo gobi.”

Grantaire nodded and then paused as Combeferre’s words caught up with him. “Wait what do you mean he’ll recognize my cooking?”

“You know the orders?” Combeferre pulled on his coat, ready to make a hasty escape with Bossuet and Joly who were waiting for him. 

“Yeah but—“

“Just be kind to him, please.”

“What do you mean?”

“Be kind. Let him talk and just try to be kind if he says anything weird. We’ll deal with everything after this is sorted. Go. He thinks something’s wrong.” Combeferre pushed him away and Grantaire almost wanted to run, but Enjolras was his friend and there was no reason to be nervous about having dinner with him. Hopefully, they’d have things fixed by tomorrow and no one would be any wiser about the weird-ass day he and Combeferre had. 

“I’ll just tell him that I—you—whatever—have a problem. I always fuck things up.”

Combeferre’s eyes went wide and he shook his head, “Do _not_ tell him that, he’ll want to know and we’ll be caught.”

“You wanted to borrow one of my films, then.”

“Kill Your Darlings,” Combeferre replied and then blinked in surprise as if he suddenly realized his plans for the rest of the night.

“Cheers,” Grantaire said as he finally bucked up the courage to not act weird. He headed off towards Enjolras, who didn’t even spare him a glance, just waved goodbye to Courfeyrac again and headed out down the street. Grantaire hurried to keep up, his focus on his feet. _Don’t trip, don’t trip, don’t trip._

Grantaire spent the next seven minutes trying to figure out how Combeferre would say, 

‘I don’t want to make dinner, let’s just get take away.’ He had this habit of saying what people wanted to hear and then pivoting the conversation before you realize he’s not agreeing with you or taking your advice. It was distractingly obvious when you noticed it, and it made a fairly decent drinking game (but only when someone wasn’t on a tangent—last time Joly puked). 

“I don’t want to make dinner, let’s get take away,” Enjolras said as he stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and headed in the direction of the Indian place on the corner. Grantaire turned and glared at him before remembering himself. Enjolras didn’t seem to expect an answer, he just continued down the street, hands stuffed into his pockets to protect them from the chill. 

Grantaire never passed up a chance to tease the other man and now he could pass it off as good old fashioned friendly ribbing. “Do you ever make dinner anyway?”

“Haha, very funny.” Enjolras rolled his eyes but his laugh was tired. His shoulders were slumped and his feet dragged ever so slightly on the pavement. It would be totally in character for Combeferre to force Enjolras to go to bed early. It would work out for the both of them: Enjolras could get some rest and Grantaire wouldn’t have to lie to his face about who he was. Because that’s what they were doing. They were lying to the others about who they were and Grantaire just realized this walking with Enjolras down the street. He thought he was Combeferre and Grantaire was totally betraying his trust right now.

They made it to Jaipur without incident; the walls were actually a very trendy muted lime color and not quite as _vomit_ as Grantaire had suggested, so apologies to their interior designer. 

Grantaire smoothly ordered for the both of them, although he ordered baingan masala for himself instead of Combeferre’s usual. He tried to ignore the way his brain told him how vaguely domestic this was. None of this should be counted as friendly or domestic, though, because he was lying to Enjolras. Fuck, this was terrible. 

They walked home in silence. Enjolras was texting away on his phone, writing a memoir or directions to kick his least favorite politician out of office in his notes app. Grantaire muttered something about getting work done and vanished into Combeferre’s room with dinner. The baingan masala tasted a little off but his overwhelming need for normalcy didn’t let him dwell on it. 

As it turned out, Enjolras sometimes did make sensible choices: By nine o’clock he was leaning on Combeferre’s doorway, telling Grantaire that he was exhausted and going to bed early. His hair was flopped slightly over his eyes and he had his shoes in his hand. The dark red trainers weren’t the pair he was wearing this morning and Grantaire found he didn’t want to know where those came from. 

“Don’t look so proud, I’m sure I’ll be up early and I’ll screw up my sleep schedule again,” Enjolras scowled. He was very charming, except for when he was with people he trusted and he was tired. Then he turned into a cranky, sarcastic, pain-in-the-ass. But, in all honesty, that was his favorite version of Enjolras. 

“I’m taking your phone away.” Grantaire told him evenly. 

Enjolras narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.” He turned and walked away without a second glance. The door was left open and Grantaire kept it that way. He really wasn’t above checking to make sure Enjolras was getting enough sleep. 

If Grantaire was allowed to be himself, he’d sneak in and turn Enjolras’ alarms off. Seeing as he had to pretend to be Combeferre, who was one of Enjolras’ closest friends because of the fact he was a bit of an enabler, he would have to keep his mouth shut and ignore Enjolras’ bad decisions.

But once they fixed this mess, Grantaire was going to give him a piece of his mind about his sleep schedule. 

* * *

Grantaire dragged himself from the bed the following morning and walked towards the kitchen to make himself coffee. Apparently, Combeferre’s body needed coffee more than his. At least this was something he was okay with teasing him about. He knew more about Combeferre’s body than he ever wanted to but they were both tactfully ignoring that fact. Although, it was only a matter of time before Combeferre mentioned the scars on Grantaire’s hip. They were faded and he hardly thought about them now but they were something people always needed to check in with him about. He was at the point where he didn’t mind, it just meant that they cared enough to ask. 

Grantaire walked into the common area and froze. Sitting cross legged on the couch was Enjolras. The sight of him in his own apartment shouldn’t have been so shocking but given that the only other time Grantaire had woken up in Combeferre’s body he had the entire flat to freak out in, this was an entirely new experience. 

Plus he one thousand percent believed Enjolras was telling the truth last night and would be long gone by now. Why had he assumed Enjolras would spend his early morning outside the flat? Even idiots with no self-preservation needed easy mornings every once in a blue moon. And it was Sunday so it was a good day for it. 

Enjolras looked up, concern etched on his face.

“I—uh—” Grantaire started lamely, he needed to move his feet but they were stuck. 

“You didn’t go running?” Enjolras frowned, hands over over the keyboard, legs crossed beneath him. 

“No.” Grantaire didn’t know how to proceed when Enjolras was sitting there, sweatshirt hanging off his shoulder, wearing a Paris marathon tank top and his hair up in a messy bun. He was pretty sure Enjolras had never bought a single article of clothing just because he liked the look of it. Everything he owned was dual purpose, he had shirts that planted trees, pants that removed a pound of trash from the waterway, a collection of charity run t-shirts that was borderline hoarder. Grantaire and Joly’s entire flat-painting wardrobe consisted of too-big charity run shirts that Enjolras had never worn and never noticed were missing. 

“Do you feel alright?” Enjolras frowned and tilted his head a little as he studied him and that forced Grantaire to shrug and then panic that it had been more of a Grantaire move than a Combeferre one. 

“Yeah, I just didn’t feel like running.” Numbly, Grantaire realized that Enjolras could read Combeferre like a book and therefore he’d be able to read how Grantaire felt about him easily if he wasn’t careful. Only he wouldn’t be reading Grantaire’s emotions, he’d be reading what he thought were _Combeferre’s_ and oh god he was going to ruin their friendship with his ill-placed crush. Grantaire turned and went back into Combeferre’s room. He really did have a nice room, he should ask him for advice. 

So, Grantaire wasn’t sure when he had fallen for his friend but he had fallen for him impossibly hard. Joly teased him constantly, Bossuet acted like everyone else already knew and at least once a month Musichetta pulled him aside to beg him to just talk to Enjolras. It had been at least a year at this point but he had a ridiculous crush on him for longer. Probably from the moment they met but Grantaire was determined to learn from Orpheus. He wasn’t in the habit of looking back and dwelling on things. 

His phone went off and he sat roughly on the bed to check it. There was a text from Combeferre asking where he kept his coffee. 

Grantaire sent him back a text that directed him to the second cabinet next to the stove and above the coffee maker (you know, the logical place to store coffee—he couldn’t believe he thought he was this untouchable genius when they first met) and then almost instantly there was a soft knock on the door. Grantaire only had time to shove his phone under the pillows and look up before Enjolras entered the room with two mugs in his hands. Seriously, _fuck_ Combeferre. Enjolras sat on the bed next to him and handed the mug over. Grantaire took a sip. It was a peppermint mocha and Grantaire really, really hated Combeferre right now.

“What’s wrong?” Enjolras frowned, holding his mug with both hands like he was desperate for warmth. Grantaire couldn’t think of an excuse fast enough so Enjolras continued, “You always yell at me for pretending to be okay.”

Grantaire took a sip to gather his thoughts, “There’s just a lot going on right now and I promise to tell you about it when I can.” 

Enjolras frowned but nodded and sipped his mocha, “I don’t like this but promise me that if you need anything, you’ll come to me.” 

“Of course. How’s the campaigning coming along on your end?” 

Enjolras sent him a weary glance as he made himself comfortable on the bed, “Don’t tell Grantaire but I really think we have a real chance.” 

“Yeah?” Grantaire asked because _yeah_ was a nice positive question. It was a polite, _is that so, please tell me more._ It also helpfully side-stepped bringing himself into the conversation. Plus, Combeferre had been skeptical as well in the beginning. He had thought they didn’t have enough support from the general population.

Fortunately/unfortunately Enjolras took the bait and started talking about how their canvassing was hitting the right targeted demographics, they had a ton of people sign up to use their voting station transportation, and how, even though he didn’t want to get ahead of himself ( _too late_ , but Grantaire held his tongue) but he really could see them winning this. 

Grantaire let Enjolras talk for what was probably close to an hour which was impressive because presumably Enjolras knew Combeferre knew all this already. If _Grantaire_ knew everything Enjolras was saying already, then Combeferre had to have their last minute plans to crush the election memorized back to front. Enjolras wrapped Combeferre’s blankets around him and didn’t comment on how politely Grantaire was sitting on what was presumably his own bed. 

His phone vibrated with a text and Grantaire frowned when he saw the message, why was Combeferre asking him about work? He quickly texted back, telling him it was okay if he called in sick. Just because they switched bodies, it didn’t mean Combeferre had to go pretend to know what he was doing at the museum. 

Combeferre texted back that he had been planning on going all along and he wasn’t going to waste a sick day when he was perfectly able to go to work for him. Grantaire rolled his eyes and started typing everything he could think of that would help Combeferre commit identity fraud and go to work for him today. 

“Everything alright?” Enjolras asked, finally bringing his thoughts back to ground level. Grantaire was used to him going off on tangents—Enjolras didn’t do lists or calendar reminders, he just repeated things aloud until they became second nature and it was impossible to forget them. Grantaire knew for a fact that it was their friend group that hammed this habit into him—the more times you repeated something to the group, the more likely it was someone actually listened to what you were saying. 

“Yeah, did you have breakfast yet?” Grantaire looked up. Enjolras’s face was so completely unguarded a wave of guilt washed over him. 

Enjolras shook his head and Grantaire had to suppress his expression. “Work on your article in the common room with me and I’ll put on the livestream.” 

Grantaire knew exactly what livestream Enjolras was currently addicted to and he tried to keep his face neutral. He finished texting Combeferre a reminder not to do his job better than he usually did, grabbed Combeferre’s laptop, and followed Enjolras out into the common room. 

Enjolras was currently obsessed with a deep ocean web cam which was honestly hilarious because Grantaire was absolutely terrified of certain species of deep sea sharks, like a flight or fight gut response at merely a picture, terror. He was so embarrassingly afraid of them, he kept it close to his chest and only a couple people knew about it. He was pretty sure not even Charlene and Sonia knew. But it was fine, this wasn’t a best of compilation it was just a livestream, it would mostly be water and sand. He could do water and sand all day. 

Grantaire turned Combeferre’s computer on and went poking around in his files. If he knew his friend (and he hoped he did, seeing as he was trapped in his body), he’d have several articles started and he tended to skip around because he couldn’t be bothered to research as he wrote. The very least he could do was find some sources for him seeing as he was planning on putting in a solid day’s work at the museum and there was no way Grantaire would be able to go to class for him on Monday seeing as he would probably kill everyone with a rogue spell. Grantaire was excellent at finding sources for things. It was something Enjolras had unwittingly trained him in. When they were at a standstill, the quickest way to win an argument was to cite as many sources as possible until Enjolras huffed and changed the subject. His favorite example of this was when they were deciding on where to go eat. Although, Courfeyrac argued reciting menus from memory wasn’t quite the same thing (he was wrong; it totally was). 

Together they worked for an impressive several hours. If Grantaire didn’t focus on the physical sensation of his hands being slighter larger on the keyboard than they usually were, it was almost as if everything was normal. 

“Is the moose the largest mammal in North America?” Grantaire asked without looking up from the laptop. 

Enjolras didn’t even pause his frantic typing (there was nothing to worry about, his typing was always frantic), “No I think bison are technically larger.” 

“Oh, yikes.” Grantaire whispered and Enjolras laughed. 

Enjolras sighed and put his phone down around noon. “Let’s go for a run.” 

Grantaire swallowed his laughter at that absurd notion and shook his head, “I should really keep working on this article, I’m really onto something.” 

Enjolras stood, shut the laptop despite Grantaire’s protests and dragged him back to Combeferre’s room. “We’re leaving in five. You get irritated if you don’t go for a run and I won’t put up with that.” Enjolras went to his own room before he could see the look on Grantaire’s face—his poor neighbors. They were in for the shock of their lives if Combeferre decided to take Grantaire’s body out for a jog. Maybe that’s why he was set on going to work? 

Despite the fact that Enjolras had to literally shepard him out of the flat, jogging in Combeferre’s body was actually not as torturous as it sounded. Once he got going, his legs sort of just knew what to do and he only tripped over his feet about half a dozen times. The trick was to not look at Enjolras running next to him, or in front of him, and it did actually clear his head more than he thought it would. Enjolras very generously did not question what the fuck was wrong with him, either, which made everything better. 

Okay, sure, when they got back to the flat, Grantaire fell asleep on the couch before the computer started up again, but that was just a way to pass the time. It was a tactic for ignoring Enjolras without him thinking his best friend was cross with him. And, anyway, he was back to editing within the hour, so it was a power nap at best. 

The pair spent the rest of the day in companionable quiet and soon Enjolras was leaving to meet his mother for dinner. Combeferre texted him when he got home from work that it had been a good day and he had enjoyed it immensely. Grantaire was just thrilled he hadn’t gotten him fired. Combeferre was also ‘ _having a movie night’_ with Courfeyrac to which Grantaire had laughed himself silly. Apparently, Combeferre had tried to cancel it several times but Courfeyrac was having none of it. Honestly, Grantaire didn’t know why Combeferre even tried. It would take an act of heaven for Courfeyrac to cancel movie night and even then he had hosted movie nights in the hospital waiting room before. 

Grantaire shut the phone off and went to bed early before Enjolras returned from dinner and before Combeferre could guilt him into rescuing him from his best friend. 

* * *

There was a loud pounding at the front door and Grantaire shot awake. He looked to the clock, it was 1:33 AM. Who the fuck was at Enjolras and Combeferre’s door at one thirty in the morning? Pushing himself out of bed, he went to answer the door, meeting Enjolras as he sat up on the couch. He must have fallen asleep watching that damn webcam. Logically, it should go offline at some point, right? If he was watching a recap or pre-recorded video, Grantaire was taking their whole television. You don’t need to rewatch deep sea dives unless they feature particularly cute squid. “It’s fine. I got it.” Grantaire assured him. Enjolras somehow managed to simultaneously look like both a murderer and their victim with his hair all over the place and the indent of something that was not a couch cushion on his face. 

If Combeferre and Enjolras had any protection charms by their door, they weren’t visible. Grantaire had been cloaked in herbs and spell satchels since childhood (Bossuet was forever trying to shy away from Tyche’s affections) so he didn’t hesitate before wrenching the door open. Prouvaire had probably hidden sigels in the doorframe and Combeferre wouldn’t leave himself defenseless. 

Combeferre stood in the hall looking horrified. That alone scared Grantaire so much that he didn’t even care that Enjolras, who had climbed off the couch to stand next to him, was seeing himself standing there looking a fucking mess. Let Enjolras think what he wanted, Combeferre was in trouble.

And apparently thrown by Enjolras’ presence. He looked at him like he was fae and then quickly back to Grantaire, “Hey—uh—I was wondering if I could talk to—uh—Combeferre—for a second?” His voice was breathless and pitched higher than usual. 

Grantaire turned, pushed Enjolras back into the apartment and shut the door. There was a brief muffled, clearly exasperated, comment from Enjolras and then silence. 

Combeferre took a step closer to Grantaire and then began whispering in the same desperate tone. “Did you know Courfeyrac took medicine for depression? I’m his best friend, how could I not have known? Enjolras knew! We’ve been friends since we were six.” 

“Shut up.” Grantaire hissed, glancing to the door, knowing full well that Enjolras was a terrible eavesdropper. “Pull it the fuck together. It’s okay. He’s fine, only a couple people know because he is literally just as stubborn, if not more so, as you. I know by the way, I hope you didn’t make him think I don’t because I most assuredly do.”

“Why wouldn’t he tell me?” Combeferre had a habit of throwing his hands around when he was upset and it was a little comical to watch him do it in Grantaire’s body. 

“He doesn’t want you to worry. He’s being weird about it, he wants to prove that he’s fine and he thinks that if he tells you, you’ll bust through his carefully crafted walls and his image will be ruined. Why does it even matter? You know he gets depressed and you know he’s working through it. Hell, you’re helping him work through it. Does knowing he has a prescription to help him deal really change anything? I know this isn’t what you’re actually freaking out about.”

Combeferre made a face at _carefully crafted walls_ (which, yeah, Courfeyrac didn’t even have an ornamental garden fence around himself so Grantaire didn’t know how he was deluding himself with _that_ either) and then he swallowed thickly. “He ah—that is he—he told me— _you_ about his _Combeferre problem_ . And—um—my— _perfect mouth_ —whatever that means?” Combeferre looked to him absolutely desperate and Grantaire had never wanted to absolutely throttle Courfeyrac more. His fucking _timing._

“Be nice.” Grantaire automatically replied, but that was so similar to something Combeferre had said to him the other day that his face went pale. Combeferre bit his lip and opened his mouth to speak, but Grantaire shook his head and continued, “Please, just until we get this figured out.”

Combeferre immediately broke off and glanced toward the door. “Enjolras.” He snapped and the door immediately opened to reveal Enjolras, shocked at Grantaire calling him out but equally suspicious.

“Enjolras, go back inside. I have this under control.” His best impression of I’m-in-Charge Combeferre was strained, desperate that Enjolras hadn’t been eavesdropping for long. He thought he heard the kettle brewing inside the flat so he was hopefully preoccupied for all of it. 

“Grantaire, isn’t Courfeyrac staying with you tonight?” Enjolras asked in a tone Grantaire couldn’t decipher. 

“Please say you didn’t run out of the apartment?” Grantaire snapped and for some reason Enjolras glared at _him_. Figures the one time Combeferre was on the receiving end of that glare he wasn’t himself. Grantaire took an offended breath but Combeferre interceded. 

“He’s asleep and I just needed to talk to someone.” Combeferre shrugged and put his hands in his pockets, “now that I’m here I think I was overreacting—a lot.” He hunched his shoulders and Grantaire instinctively straightened his back. He had never really noticed how good Combeferre’s posture was until he had to emulate it. 

Enjolras frowned, “Are you alright? You can come inside.” Enjolras didn’t pause, he just turned and went into the apartment. Grantaire started to follow him until he realized Combeferre wasn’t moving. He glanced at him, Combeferre looked back and they stood there for a minute. Then Combeferre shook his head and led the way into the flat. 

Enjolras paused the ripples of sand on the tv and Grantaire frowned, “we’re not watching the livestream?” 

Enjolras sent him an exasperated glare, “Grantaire had a thing about ghost sharks—”

Oh come _on_ how the hell did he know that?

Combeferre sat on the edge of the couch and sent Enjolras a tight smile and a soft _thank you_ . Combeferre then shot Grantaire a pointed, _see how easy that was_ glance when Enjolras looked away. 

“Do you want tea?” Enjolras asked. 

“No, I think he was actually just leaving.” Grantaire turned, “Right? I could grab a pillow and go back with you if you want?” 

Combeferre shook his head, “No, uh, I think you’ve talked some sense into me. Sorry to bother you both, I’ll make it up to you later. I’ll get you both drinks or something.”

“If you’re sure… Do you want me to walk you back?” Enjolras asked again, reaching out a hand and touching Combeferre’s arm gently. 

_Don’t. Be. Weird._ Grantaire mouthed but the look on Combeferre’s face clearly said that there was no other way he could be. He glanced down to Enjolras’s hand on his arm and then back to Grantaire like he was trying to tell him something. “I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast.” Combeferre said, pushing himself up from the couch.

Enjolras frowned, his hand still on his arm, “Oh, I promised to do some last minute canvassing tomorrow morning.” 

“After the election’s over we can go out, my treat.” Combeferre said and Grantaire glared at him. He sure was generous when it wasn’t his money he was spending. That won a little smile from him. “I’ll text you both when I get back home. Sorry, I really didn’t mean to absolutely freak out on you in the middle of the night.” 

Enjolras laughed and Grantaire went to grab a travel mug down from the cabinet (Morgan, it was great suddenly being tall—he hoped Combeferre was absolutely _suffering_ ) and made Combeferre a quick cup of Finals tea for the walk back. It was only a couple of blocks but the night was cold and Morgan knew the pair needed any support they could get. When he returned, Enjolras was leaning against the door frame with his head tilted, laughing at something Combeferre had said.

He stole that move from Bossuet. 

Wait. 

Was—

Was Enjolras flirting with him?

What the shit—

Combeferre looked at him, raised his eyebrows, and took the tea when Grantaire’s feet brought him next to Enjolras on autopilot. “Thank you. Sorry for bothering you, again. Good night.” He turned and went down the hall and Grantaire turned and guided Enjolras back inside by his elbow. He was trying to watch him walk away but Grantaire shut the door. That was quite enough of _that_ for the night. 

Enjolras frowned, “I should walk with him back home.” 

“He’ll be fine. He said he’d text you when he got back.” Grantaire was glad Combeferre was calm but now he was the one losing his goddamn mind.

Grantaire wanted to text Joly and Bossuet but they’d go to Combeferre with their solutions and sympathies and this sucked. He wanted his best friends back. When Combeferre came over next, they were ’re texting them together. He was going to say they were hanging out and they were going to text them together.

“What’s wrong?” Enjolras was still looking towards the door so Grantaire didn’t let go of him. Enjolras didn’t notice. Grantaire must not have realized how hands on he was with his friends. 

And of course he was talking about Combeferre and not him, even though he was the one standing here freaking the fuck out. Why had he been _flirting_ with him? Enjolras didn’t _flirt._ And especially not with _him._ But Enjolras had asked him a question—what was wrong with Grantaire. What _was_ wrong with him that he could tell Enjolras? “Just family things. You know how his sister’s going through that divorce.” Grantaire had never been thankful that his family was sort of a mess before this exact moment—the excuse came to him effortlessly. 

Enjolras looked at him like it had been a weird thing to say and not the greatest swerve in his life. “I didn’t think he was really talking about that?”

Oh _fuck_ , that’s right he hadn’t told anyone other than Enjolras about that. Grantaire forced a casual shrug, “Caught the end of a phone call and he had no choice.”

“But everything’s okay?” Enjolras frowned towards the door again and Grantaire had half a mind now to let him go chasing after him and be Combefere’s problem. 

“It’ll be right as rain soon.” Grantaire smiled, he made fun of Combeferre’s overused phrases constantly so it was only right he use it as much as possible now. 

“I’m going to put on a show and make some tea, do you want some or are you getting back to bed?” Enjolras glanced at him and the sudden weariness in his eyes made up his mind for him. 

Grantarie headed towards the kitchen to make the tea for him, “I think we should at least wait until he texts us that he got home okay.” 

“I should have gone with him.” Enjolras frowned again but at least this time he didn’t stare longingly towards the door. He picked up the remote and turned the webcam off, opting instead for a drama. 

“He’s fine.” Grantaire told him, trying to push down the feeling of everything starting to become a little bit too much for him. He made them both cinnamon camomile and Enjolras glared at it until Combeferre texted Grantaire and then Grantaire texted Enjolras that he was home safe and sound. Only then did he finally take a sip and let himself relax. 

Grantaire and Enjolras sat up watching Netflix until they both fell asleep on the couch. 

* * *

Grantaire heard Enjolras in the morning rustling about and yelling at him to get off the couch because he’ll hurt his neck (his neck did hurt actually, huh) but Grantaire just rolled over into the couch, pulled the blankets up and ignored him. 

He woke again several hours later only to have himself yank the blankets off him. “Get up.” He said, “we’ve got work to do.” 

This was metaphorically weird as shit. And, fuck, his neck was killing him. He hated when Enjolras was right. 

“When did you get in?” Grantaire asked, groggily pushing himself up off the couch. Fuck, his neck really did hurt and so did his leg for that matter. Combeferre had really done a number on himself. 

“Just now, I had to sneak out because Musichetta wanted me to help her with—honestly, I’m not sure but she’ll forgive you.”

Grantaire raised his eyebrows and decided not to comment. 

Combeferre was in a State this morning so Grantaire just let him drag him around the apartment. He allowed him coffee (but only _just_ because he ended up drinking most of it himself) and he was digging through the flat with such abandon that he knew he was planning on leaving Grantaire to clean it up before Enjolras returned home. 

Combeferre reached into the desk drawer and pulled some sort of feather or butterfly wing out. He held it over his forehead and squinted at him. “You look ridiculous.” Grantaire let him know, just in case he wasn’t aware. He hushed him and got up to shuffle a little circle around him. Grantaire didn’t like what was going on. “Is this a weird magic thing or are you just being weird?” 

“I’m trying to see if any spells become visible.” He squinted and then widened his eyes.

Grantaire filed this moment away with the rest of the weird shit he was trying to be polite about. “Do I want to know what that is?”

“Moth wing,” Combeferre said, like it was no big deal. Grantaire watched him and then just shut his eyes. It was silent for a moment and then, “Did you just go to sleep?” 

“If you’re going to be weird in my body, I am not being conscious to see it.” He kicked his feet up and leaded back. He smiled to himself when he kicked Combeferre in the leg with his foot. 

Grantaire seriously did take a nap and he didn’t wake up until Combeferre physicalled kicked him off the couch. “I think it just has to wear off,” he announced as Grantaire looked at the carpet. 

“Cheers. That’s fucking great,” Grantaire complained, pushing himself up. “Hope it wears off in time for you to feel the bruise you just gave yourself.” 

“You’re incredibly rude in my article revisions.” 

“How could I be rude, I went above and beyond and worked on your article for you.” Grantaire rubbed his elbow and got to his feet. “What day is it? Do I have to go to class for you?”

“Already emailed the professor and said I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Can we text Joly? I want to check in with him.” 

“Yeah—oh by the way I told Courfeyrac he wasn’t allowed to show up with Mama Mia tonight so if he does, please kick him out.” 

“Kick Courfeyrac out, okay, I think I can handle that.”

Combeferre sat down at his laptop and turned it on, “where’s your phone?” 

Grantaire looked around, okay, he was on the couch with Enjolras last night and before that…”I texted you after you left, right?”

Combeferre nodded and then reached under the couch and pulled out Grantaire’s phone. He unlocked it before handing it to Grantaire, just because he could. Enjolras had texted him several times that morning asking if he wanted to sneak out for coffee later. 

Grantaire was just going to pretend he didn’t see that. 

He opened up the group text with Joly and Bossuet and stared at it for a second. He wanted to hear from them but now he didn’t know what he wanted to say. As he glared down at his phone, another message rolled in. 

Combeferre had messaged him, Joly and Bossuet and it read: _Grantaire’s been staring at his phone for ten minutes because he’s having Enjolras problems._

“I don’t have Enjolras problems.” Grantaire hissed, sitting back down on the couch. He looked around at the mess Combeferre had made. 

His phone pinged with another message, again from Combeferre, _oh sorry, he doesn’t have Enjolras problems_ . Grantaire rolled his eyes and got to his feet.  
Their phones went off and Combeferre read the message, “Joly said that if he’s upset you, he’s going to kill him.” Combeferre frowned and looked to Grantaire as he started wandering around the flat, “is he always so vicious?”  
“Only when someone deserves it.” Grantaire shrugged, “he threatened to hex your shoes inside out the day you made Pontmercy cry.” 

“I never made Pontmercy cry.” Combeferre tilted his head in confusion and looked back down at the phone and laughed.   
“The only reason he didn’t is because Pontmercy didn’t want to make a big deal out of it and you were totally oblivious to it.” Grantaire walked back over to Combeferre. Bossuet had posted a couple pictures of him and Enjolras from last winter when they all rented a house in the mountains for a week. They were out in the woods, holding onto each other to stay upright. It had been deceptively icy. 

“I can’t believe Bossuet has these on his phone still.” 

“Yeah, he’s a jackass.” Grantaire shrugged. Now that it was daylight and he was able to freak out all over his friends, he found he wanted to keep everything close to his chest. Yeah, Enjolras might have been flirting with him but—what if he hadn’t been? He probably hadn’t been. For Una’s sake, he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself right now. Well, more so than he already had. He was a fool in Combeferre’s shoes and, okay, one problem at a time. 

“You think the spell is just going to wear off on it’s own?” 

Combeferre nodded and put his phone down, “I could see something—it was very faint because I’m magicless right now, but I could still see the residue. I can teach you what to look for, if you want?”

“Wait, I can see magic?”

“The residue of it.” Combeferre waved his hands in the air, “the—absence of it, I guess?”

“So does it say we did this?”

Combferre shrugged, “honestly, I don’t think we did.” 

“So someone did this to us.” This was fucking great. Less than twenty four hours until the election and...you know what. They could just ignore this for a little while longer. “We’re not in danger.” 

Combeferre shook his head, “we’ve literally just swapped places. The spell looks like it’s wearing off and I really think it’s just temporary. But, that being said, if someone did put the spell on us, we need to find out why. If it’s not off of us by the end of the day tomorrow, I think we should tell everyone. Just to be safe.” 

“I hate when you say _just to be safe_.” Grantaire mimicked even though he was saying it in literally Combeferre’s voice. 

“Are you excited for the ride share tomorrow?” Combeferre deflected, clicking around on his laptop in a way that betrayed he was not doing any writing at all. 

“Use my mouth responsibly,” Grantaire warned and Combeferre honest to Maeve laughed. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I already switched and we’re driving together. All we have to do is pick people up and drop them off. We don’t even have to talk to them.” 

Grantaire went over to the closet and picked up the bins Combeferre had left on the ground. He used his newfound height to safely tuck them away on the back shelf. Enjolras could walk in at any moment and they still had a chance to get away with this. The spell just had to wear off by tomorrow. “Is it killing you that you can’t be more hands on in this?” 

“Not really? You had your hands full enough on their own with all the last minute things you’re doing with Eponine on social media. If anything, I’m looking lazy because you haven’t volunteered to pick up any of the slack. Thanks for having all the graphics done already, by the way. We’d be in trouble if I had to make them.” 

“I can’t be you if it’s not super casual. I nearly died going on a run with Enjolras yesterday.” Grantaire knelt by the entertainment set and put the books back away on the shelf under the tv, then he got up and headed to the desk. Combeferre had left a whole mess of papers out and Grantaire just picked them up and dropped them into a drawer. 

“I’m sorry you did _what_?” Combeferre's expression was a mix of dread, horror and complete amusement. 

“I told you this already, didn’t I?” Grantaire muttered, shutting the desk drawer. 

Combeferre shook his head. Before Grantaire had the chance to tell him all about how he sullied his reputation in the neighborhood, there was a jingle of keys outside and the front door opened. Enjolras beamed when he saw Combeferre. “Oh!” 

Grantaire scowled, he never looked that excited to see _him_. 

“I should go,” Combeferre said and Enjolras put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. Seriously,” Combeferre said and smiled like he knew a secret he was obviously delighted by. Enjolras’ eyes lit up at the expression and Grantaire frowned. Enjolras said something quietly to Combeferre (in Grantaire’s body, what the shit was he telling him?) and Combeferre pursed his lips together to try to hide his growing smile. 

“I really have to go,” He laughed and then squeezed past Enjolras to make his escape.

Enjolras shut the door and turned towards Grantaire. He had a small frown on his lips and his eyebrows were narrowed in Combeferre’s (Grantaire’s) wake. He looked up, frowned deeper at Grantaire (who he thought was Combeferre) and immediately went on the offense. “Combeferre, are you alright? You’ve been acting weird the past couple of days.”

He grabbed the remote and he put the webcam on again. Grantaire glanced at it and then back to him. 

Huh. That level of aggressive topic change was odd. But two could play at that game. 

“I’m fine.” The answers they want and then, pivot. “How are you? Feeling alright?”

“Yeah. I was just worried about the vote, you, and Grantaire. He’s been acting weird lately as well, hasn’t he? He’s been quiet. I know he wasn’t exactly keen on this in the beginning, he thought we were in over our heads but he does everything he can to point out the holes in our plans and that’s vital you know? He’s vital to the group and I know he doesn’t think so.” Enjolras glanced at him and then quickly away. “I know what that silence means, you want me to tell _him_ this, not you but I just—I can’t because it’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous.” Grantaire spoke softly, scaring himself at how calm he sounded. Enjolras was so close to figuring them out. 

“I just—” Enjolras began and then turned to look him in the eye. For one terrifying moment, Grantaire felt like he could see right through him. Then Enjolras put his hands on his hips and shrugged, “I’m in love with him and I know he doesn’t feel the same.” The words tumbled out of his mouth like once he started he couldn’t stop. He continued to watch Grantaire, eyes searching for a reaction. 

Grantaire opened his mouth, shut it and Combeferre’s words echoed in his head, _Be kind. Just try to be kind if he says anything weird._

Oh.

This is what Combeferre meant. Enjolras sighed, tired and weary. But, no, Enjolras _was_ . It was fucking obvious the way his hand rested on his shoulder, the way his eyes immediately darted to him as he entered the room. Fuck. _Fuck._

How had he been so oblivious about this? Why did it take a literal outside perspective to see it? Enjolras had freaked when he thought Grantaire was upset and he smiled at him when he thought he wasn’t looking and they had held hands the entire time in the woods. 

“That’s the problem,” Enjolras began and then stopped, biting his lip.

“Why does it have to be a problem?” Grantaire swallowed thickly and then cleared his throat. His voice was suddenly hoarse and for Maeve’s sake he couldn’t freaking tell Enjolras the truth _now_. 

“He obviously doesn’t feel the same for me.”

“…you don’t know that,” Grantaire said carefully, his emotions were cataclysmic but despite everything… he was lying. You can't love someone who lies about who they are. Enjolras trusted Combeferre in a way he didn’t trust Grantaire and these words weren’t meant for him. They were meant for Enjolras’ best friend. He felt like Croesus who had set off to fight the Persians after the Oracles prophesied that, if he did, it would cause a great kingdom to fall. He felt like Croesus realizing too late it was his own that he would destroy. If they had told the truth from the beginning. If he had stopped Enjolras before he started talking… He and Combeferre had stayed silent to save themselves embarrassment and look at what it cost them—once Enjolras realized who he had confessed his feelings to, he might never trust him again. 

“And you do?” Enjolras sat up, something Grantaire couldn’t recognize in his eyes. When he spoke next it was barely over a whisper. “Does this have to do with last night?”

“No. No, that was really about his sister. But that’s okay. It’s all sorted.” Grantaire had a wild notion that Enjolras and Léonie were texting each other but… they wouldn’t talk about her divorce… right? That was a weird thing for them to text about. 

“I thought something had happened. With the election tomorrow and the odds looking like they’re in our favor, I’m so worried someone’s going to try to do something to prevent this. Baptistine has all the protection she needs and then some because this isn’t a big race. She’s in no real danger. But if someone were to, I don’t know, smash our windows or curse us somehow it’d be a bad sign to potential voters.”

“No one’s going to take us out,” Grantaire said despite the fact he and Combeferre had been somehow cursed and it _might_ have been someone’s attempt to take them out. Oh, he hadn’t really thought this through at _all_ , had he?

“Right. Yes.” Enjolras said, touching the base of his neck and then putting his hands down at his side. He rubbed them on his pants for a second and the stuffed them into his pockets. 

He looked to the webcam and gasped, “oh—look at that. Combeferre— a ghost shark.” 

Grantaire kept his eyes on Enjolras as he turned back to the tv with a wide smile on his face. “That’s fantastic. Look everything’s going to work out fine. I’m going to try to get some work done before dinner.” 

Grantaire turned, grabbed Combeferre’s laptop from the table, and fled the room like an absolute coward. If things weren’t so fucking weird right now, he’d be absolutely out of his mind. Enjolras thought he loved him—

_Loved_

_Him_. 

And he thought that it was a problem—

_a problem_

Because he thought that Grantaire

_Didn’t_

_Feel_

_The_

_Same_. 

How in the name of Maeve and Morgan and Una had he fucked things up so badly that Enjolras _didn’t know_ that he had been at war with his unrequited feelings for years. Actual _years_ . Holy fuck, they had wasted so much time. Holy fuck, his unrequited feelings he had been trying to surpress weren’t exactly _unrequited_. 

He had to calm himself down. He paced around the room and then grabbed a notebook and pen—Combeferre didn’t own pencils, he had already checked—and threw himself down on Combeferre’s bed. He’d lose himself in the penstockes until he could calmly exist in a world where Enjolras might possibly say he was 

In Love With

Him. 

Deep breath. Focus on the lines. He couldn’t freak out about this because he was lying to his face. This was betrayal and they were too deep in their mistake to fix it. 

Grantaire doodled over four pages and lulled himself half to sleep when there was a great stomping out in the hall. His first thought was that Enjolras had found out about the switch and was livid but the bedroom door flew open and Courfeyrac stormed into the room. Grantaire sat up sharply and shoved the notebook under the blankets. Courfeyrac handed him a coffee—peppermint mocha with a pump of hazelnut syrup, Combeferre’s favorite—and sat down directly next to him so that their legs were touching. “Hey, what’s up?” Courfeyrac’s voice was strained and he had a fake smile plastered on his lips. 

Grantaire watched his wild expression for a moment before asking, “What did you do?”

“Nothing.” Courfeyrac said but his leg was bouncing and his hands were squeezing his coffee so tightly it was going to spill. 

“You’re manic,” Grantaire said slowly and took a sip of the coffee, he felt a little guilty drinking Combeferre’s gift but, whatever, when in Rome and all that. “What did you do?”

Courfeyrac sighed and drank his coffee, Grantaire reached out and took it from him. For a moment Courfeyrac looked like he wanted to protest but then he shrugged. Good, he was jittery as fuck. The last thing he needed was more caffeine. 

“Come on, step one, tell me what it is. Step two, we figure out what to do about it.” 

Courfeyrac smiled, all relief, and it made Grantaire feel a little better that he wasn’t the only one apparently missing the fact their friend had a ridiculous crush on them. He could give Combeferre the benefit of the doubt that he was too busy to notice the love struck gazes but seriously. 

Taking a deep breath, Courfeyrac instantly started rambling, “So it’s not a problem. It’s _not_. It doesn’t affect you— it’s me. It’s just me. It’s a me problem.” 

Grantaire put the coffees down. He narrowed his eyes and then tried to plaster a neutral expression on his face. He didn’t know where this was going but he didn’t like it. 

“I’ve been keeping quiet for a while but I know keeping quiet will only make things worse. It’s better if this is an open secret and it’s better if you hear it from me and not anyone else.” Courfeyrac kept bouncing his foot on the floor and he was waving his hands so much, Grantaire was pretty sure that, if they got him a baton, he'd make a fairly impressive conductor. Courfeyrac looked at him, seemed to lose his nerve, and then looked away again. He ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. 

Were two people really going to confess their love in the same day? What were the fucking odds? Guys like Combeferre really had it all. 

Courfeyrac turned to him, grabbed both of Grantaire’s hands, and that seemed to anchor him. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why this is so hard to say. It’s just, we’ve been friends for so long and I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize our friendship because I literally don’t know who I’d be without you but I have to say something because it’s just _too much_ to keep quiet and—“

Oh no— 

“Holy fuck Courfeyrac stop. I have to tell you—no don’t give me that look, it’s not what you think—I’m not Combeferre I’m Grantaire. We were cursed.” Grantaire whispered loudly, his heart beat loudly in his ears and he just tried to ignore it. 

Courfeyrac stared at him, still horrified and wounded at Grantaire’s words but his mouth dropped open slightly. Then his eyes narrowed, “Prove it.” 

Grantaire sighed and offered him a tiny smile, “Well I know you’re in love with Combeferre for starters.”

“Oh I hate this.” Courfeyrac looked between the two of them and the way his hands still gripped Combeferre’s (Graintaire’s) wrists. 

“I stopped you,” Grantaire reminded him helpfully, leaning back a little so he could tilt his head down to look at him. 

Courfeyrac let go of Grantaire’s wrists and sat there in stunned silence for a moment. He looked up to Grantaire, “I finally gathered up the courage to tell him the truth and he isn’t even in his body to hear it!”

“Calm down,” Grantaire hissed, putting a hand on his shoulder and glancing to the door. 

“I was _ready to tell him_ and now I’m not.”

“You can still be ready.”

“I am but I can’t tell him!” Courfeyrac threw his hands up in the air, nearly taking the coffees out in his display. 

Shrugging, Grantaire leaned back on the bed, trying to get comfortable, “I mean you _could_ but you’d be telling him with my face.”

Courfeyrac pretended to gag and Grantaire was going to let him get away with that exactly _once_. “Well. Actually maybe not. Can Combeferre and I—“

“Holy shit are you asking for my consent?”

Courfeyrac froze and leaned a little away from him, “Well not if you use that tone.” 

Grantaire laughed and then hugged him, “I’m glad you’re finally ready to face your feelings but please wait until after it’s got nothing to do with me.”

“If you try to wrestle me down in Combeferre’s body, things are going to get weird.” Courfeyrac told him stiffly. Grantaire let go of him and Courfeyrac straightened his shirt as he got to his feet. Sighing, Grantiaire pushed himself up, “Well the only thing to do is for you to swallow that confession for a couple days, maybe think a little more about what to say, what we practiced today was kind of pathetic.” 

“I love you,” Courfeyrac said, breathlessly, his eyes wild and panic in the curve of his lips. 

“Honestly, I’m glad you go that out so next time you won’t look like you’ve just chased down his motorcade.” Grantaire laughed and Courfeyrac nodded, glancing away like he was mentally taking notes. “We’re going to mine and I’m telling Combeferre I told you.”

“Of course we’re going to see Combeferre—you two were apparently cursed and decided to not tell anyone about it. Why would you keep quiet about this? And what are we going to tell Combeferre about why you told me now? Since apparently this is some big secret. How did you two even do this?”

Grantaire reached under the bed for the notebook and ignored his other questions, “Caught me red handed.” 

That was all the answer Courfeyrac was going to require apparently. “Shove that under the mattress like it’s queer Hardy Boys fanfiction and let’s get out of here.” 

They had been friends for so long that Grantaire just expected weird shit to come out of Courfeyrac’s mouth but somehow he always found a way to surprise him. “What do you mean by that?” 

Courfeyrac made a shooing motion and Grantaire slipped the notebook under the mattress out of sheer confusion. He grabbed a pair of shoes and sat on the edge of the mattress to put them on. The notebook crinkled under his weight.

“Did you used to write Hardy Boys fanfiction? Like—they’re brothers right? I’ve been in Combeferre’s body for days but this might be the worst secret I’ve discovered.” 

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, “Frank and Chet, jackass. And it wasn’t me.” 

“Who are _they_!” Grantaire whispered, frowning. 

Courfeyrac looked at him evenly and then proceeded to ignore him. “Courf—“

Courfeyrac took the coffees and opened the door. He did not give Grantaire the coffee back but that was okay. Combeferre was going to need it more. 

“Hey, we’re going over Grantaire’s for a bit,” Courfeyrac called, fake cheerful. 

“Oh I didn’t even know you were here,” Enjolras said, twisting around on the couch. He frowned, looking upset that he had missed him. His hair was a little wild, he had probably fallen asleep on the couch again. 

“I’ll catch you tomorrow, babe.” Courfeyrac shot finger guns at him and there was a quiet frown on Enjolras’ face as he turned back to the TV. 

“You better not be watching that when I get back,” Grantaire scholded lightly. “You’ve been watching that same live stream for so long I’m starting to get seasick.” 

Enjolras scoffed. “You sound like R.” 

Courfeyrac hit Grantaire in the chest and oh yeah, he was totally going to blow their cover. At this point, the best thing to do was to tell everyone before they figured it out on their own. It was always better to just rip the bandaid off. “Let me know if you want to get dinner with us later, okay?” Grantaire added just because he was a great friend. 

Enjolras waved him off. “I still have leftovers from when I went out with Maman.” 

Grantaire shrugged, it would be so easy for him to just tell him. _Hey, by the way, I’m Grantaire. Don’t feel weird about saying you think you love me because I’m absolutely stupid over you._ But, they were so close to winning the election. They were a day away from securing a vote for safe reproductive health. Sure, they were probably too close to voting to change any more minds but the transportation, the information phone bank were important and Grantaire wasn’t going to threaten them. They could do it, just a couple more hours and then Enjolras could hate him forever. 

The spell wasn’t interfering with the election but it certainly was with both of their freaking love lives. What the shit was that about?

Courfeyrac dragged Grantaire to his apartment nearly at a run. Grantaire was okay with this because he was starting to get used to the shape of Combeferre’s shoes. 

The fact that that thought didn’t seem as weird as it probably should have was worrying. 

Grantaire considered telling Courfeyrac about what Enjolras inadvertently confessed to him but he had already betrayed his trust once today. It was best that he kept that particular mess between him and Enjolras. 

Courfeyrac dragged him up the stairs of Grantaire’s apartment building. He flicked his wrist and the door opened and Grantaire saw himself hanging upside down off the couch, holding a glass of something in front of him and staring at his hand through it. 

“Hey.” Courfeyrac said, sounding completely unhinged. He was a normal human around everyone _but_ Combeferre. Grantaire frowned at him, who had keyed his magic to unlock the door? Courfeyrac shouldn’t have been able to unlock his door with a flick of his wrist but someone had keyed him into their apartment’s security charms. Probably Bossuet because he was always forgetting his key and his magic liked to go a little haywire on practical things. Bossuet had probably keyed everyone’s magic into the security charm, now that he thought about it. 

Combeferre flinched and some of the drink spilled, it sizzled when it hit the floor. 

“What the fuck are you doing to my hardwood floors?” Grantaire gasped before realizing what he was doing and glanced around for any of his roommates. Combeferre appeared to be alone. 

“Gran—d to see the both of you,” Combeferre said as he tugged himself and stood, stepping clear of the acid stain on the wood. Courfeyrac shut the door behind him and put the coffees down on the table. 

Grantaire puffed out his cheek and then sighed, “I was going to make you squirm but—“ 

“Just because you’re pretending to be Grantaire, doesn’t mean you can ignore me!” Courfeyrac hissed, hands formed into fists resting on his hips. 

“Huh,” Combeferre, for once, looked completely taken by surprise with nothing to say. 

“We just have tomorrow and then we can tell everyone,” Grantaire said reflectively. Courfeyrac had been quiet with Enjolras but of course he’d bring his problem straight to the most sympathetic ear. He wasn’t even aware he was doing it. The love struck fool went to the person who would move heaven and earth for him automatically.

Courfeyrac laughed, high pitched and desperate. “Sod the election, you’re both telling me exactly what happened. Who did this to you?”

“We woke up like this,” Combeferre immediately said, completely helpless to deny Courfeyrac anything. “We don’t know anything else. But the curse _is_ fading.” 

Courfeyrac crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me one thing that only you know about me.”

Grantaire was offended he had to ask. He thought he had already proven he wasn’t, in fact, Combeferre. What kind of people did Coufeyrac think they were if he thought this could all be some kind of joke? “Why do you need to confirm it with him as well? Unless this is just you being glaringly obvious you trust him more than me?”

Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow and looked from Grantaire to Combeferre, “Um, yes. It is.” 

“Wow—” Grantaire began, but Combeferre spoke over him. 

“You once cried so hard over the Princess Bride you were sick twice,” Combeferre said, lifting his chin up a little. Despite his best efforts, Grantaire laughed and Courfeyrac looked at him, inexplicably wounded, before he started laughing as well. 

“So what happened? You’re in each other’s bodies.” Courfeyrac said when he got a hold of his laughter and handed Combeferre his coffee, ignoring Grantaire. 

Grantaire put a hand up and sunk into the couch, “Wait, before we get into that. He let your novelist past slip and I need you to tell me who Frank and Chet are.”

“A Hardy boy and his brother’s best friend?” Combeferre asked in response, sounding like he didn’t want to actually answer it at all. 

Grantaire sighed, a big show of relief. 

Combeferre frowned and tilted his head. “So I’m not going to ask what sequence of I’m sure thrilling events led to you figuring us out—“

“Good,” Courfeyrac said so earnestly, Grantaire was a little shocked Combeferre didn’t guess what had happened immediately. But then again, he couldn’t judge not realizing your friend fell in love with you. _Fuck._

“—or what it has to do with the fucking Hardy Boys—“

Grantaire shrugged and moved some of their couch cushions around to make himself more comfortable, “I was drawing and he told me to stuff it under your mattress like queer hardy boys fanfiction.”

Combreferre made a face and laughed. Courfeyrac started to blush. “Well—“

Shaking his head, Combeferre said, “I don’t care. I’m just glad we have someone else to talk about this with. Or at least be normal around. We might have to tell your flatmates you’re not dying because despite my best attempts, they’re politely freaking out about you.”

“Oh, you must be doing a shit job if they’re being polite about it,” Grantaire rested his chin on his fist and shook his head. 

“I want to hang out with my best friend today so we’re going to relax and watch a movie,” Courfeyrac announced and sat himself down on the couch next to Grantaire. Combeferre went into the kitchen to raid Grantaire’s cabinets. Courfeyrac always got a little snackish right after he put on a movie. The fact that they both changed the subject so quickly sent warning bells off in his head but, sirens had been blaring for days now and he’d been ignoring it thus far, what was a couple more hours? 

Courfeyrac flipped through the Netflix options until he settled on a movie that honestly looked horrendous. There was something familiar about the lead actress, Grantaire had seen her in something but he couldn’t quite place it. 

“Since you’re wearing my clothes, do you want to do my laundry?” Grantaire asked so he had something to think about other than Bossuet and Joly’s wounded faces. 

“Did you do mine?” Combeferre asked, voice a little muffled from where he was reaching into the back of the fridge for something. 

Grantaire pursed his lips and, really, he walked into this one, “Enjolras bullied me into helping him, actually.”

Both men laughed and Grantaire glared at them—jackasses. His plight warranted a bit of sympathy, especially coming from them. 

After all this, if Enjolras wasn’t completely betrayed and still wanted to, they were going to help convince him to get Enjolras to go on a date with him. Grantaire pushed himself up and went into the kitchen to help Combeferre find something for lunch. 

Combeferre was opening cabinets and shutting them seemingly at random so Grantaire banished him to the couch with a cider he had found in the back of the fridge. Let him sulk next to the reason he was sulking and maybe they’d balance each other out. 

It was weird feeling like a bit of a stranger in his own kitchen. He reached towards the fridge’s handle and the door flew open, hitting him in the hand. 

Grantaire glanced to the two on the couch and frowned. They were watching the movie with their back to him. Courfeyrac whispered something that made Combeferre laugh. 

“Are we the only ones here?” Grantaire asked cautiously. It was pretty obvious they were but it wouldn’t hurt to be sure.” 

“Yeah I watched everyone else leave this morning, why?” Combeferre asked without turning around. 

Grantaire frowned. “No reason.” 

He reached his hand out and flicked his finger. The refrigerator door slammed. 

Combeferre whipped around, nearly taking Courfeyrac out as he did so. “Did you just manage to do magic?”

“Um—“ Grantaire said, he couldn’t take his eyes off the loaf of bread he was currently levitating in the middle of the room. “Yes? And nothing exploded this time.”

“Oh this is great,” Courfeyrac whispered and then took out his phone to record Grantaire. 

“Oh come on,” Grantaire sighed as he snatched the bread out of the air and put it back down on the counter. It immediately rose back up into the air. His eyes went wide and he snatched it back down. 

“Didn’t your mother say this would happen?” Courfeyrac asked Combeferre around his laughter, he had his phone up still and Grantaire flipped him off. 

Combeferre pushed himself to his feet and took a step away from the couch before deciding against it, “I think she meant with my children but, yeah. She knew she’d get her revenge.” 

“R, say hello to Marie-Noelle. I’m showing this to her next time I see her.” 

“Hello Madam Combeferre. I hope you had an easier time controlling Combeferre’s magic than me.” Grantaire put the bread back down and it rose back into the air. 

“She certainly did not. Instead of bread, it was Enjolras and me,” Courfeyrac laughed. “And we were egging him on.” 

The bread dropped unceremoniously onto the counter. Grantaire raised his hands and then absolutely lost his mind as he picked Combeferre and Courfeyrac both up. At the looks on their faces—somewhere between outraged and elated—he burst out laughing until he was wheezing for breath. After a couple moments in which he had to squint through his tears, he managed to put them both back down. Unlike the bread, once they touched down they didn’t float off again. 

“You’ve made me miss half this movie,” Courfeyrac shot him a glare and turned his back on him. 

The woman on the screen was screaming at someone, flour and some kind of batter was thrown over everything. Grantaire shook his head at the over-the-top acting. If he wasn’t acting like that while being trapped in someone else’s body, losing a baking competition definitely didn’t warrant that reaction. Well, at least he _thought_ she had just lost a baking competition. There were a lot of camera crews floating around and one of the characters was a harried young man with a headset and clipboard.

Grantaire went back to try to find a snack at least for them but maybe they should just order takeaway and have an early dinner. He took a step towards their impressive menu collection and then froze. 

“Oh!” Grantaire gasped, spinning around. He realized where he knew the actress from and not only that— “Combeferre find the spell that was used in Crete with Ariadne and the Minotaur.” 

“The what?” Combeferre asked, looking sharply away from Courfeyrac. Gross, he didn’t like seeing himself looking at his friend with lovesick eyes. 

Courfeyrac however, wasn’t currently staring at anyone with longing so he reached forward and grabbed Grantaire’s laptop from the coffee table. He slammed the keys for a second (he was allergic to typing quietly, he and Enjolras shared that odd trait) and then squinted at the screen. He always had to bring theatrics into everything he did. 

“It wore off on it’s own?” he announced a moment later and Grantaire frowned, hands in his hips. Courfeyrac took one glance at him, saw he wasn’t satisfied, and went back to the computer screen. 

“No, there was something that made it break sooner. I remember. It was supposed to last weeks but there was something in the labyrinth that made it break sooner. Remember—she’s all of a sudden back in her body and—did you see that movie a couple years ago—it’s a really bad scene of her running down the hall screaming along with the minotaur.” 

“You made me watch that with you,” Courfeyrac frowned, crossing his arms as Combeferre took the laptop from him. “I thought I had erased that whole night from my memory.” 

“Next time use a memory potion and not vodka.” Combeferre didn’t look up from the computer screen and Courfeyrac sent him a frankly mortifiedly offended glance. 

“It was good vodka.” 

Combeferre shook his head, “It was one of Prouvaire’s botanical mixes and you’re lucky you survived.” 

Courfeyrac’s face started off offended and ended up with a small little smile before leaned back regally, “You’re lucky I figured out what spell it was. Honestly, I had more faith in the pair of you. If anyone could figure out a mythic spell it would be you two. But you had _no clue_ until I came along. You two literally just gave up.”

“We knew it had to wear off on its own.” Grantaire shrugged. 

Grantaire could practically feel Courfeyrac roll his eyes, “That’s nothing. That’s the conclusion you come to when you have absolutely no idea how to proceed. See Grantaire and his crush on Enjolras.” 

“Really? You want to say that to me right now?” Grantaire asked, Combeferre was right here he could ruin their night so easily with just a couple words. 

Combeferre frowned, sensing Courfeyrac was in danger. “What happened?”

“Nothing that concerns you. It’s fine. Like I told Enjolras—everyone’s fine and we’ll deal with it after the election.” 

“What did Enjolras _say_ to you?” Frowning, Courfeyrac turned again to look at him. 

“I think we might have a couple books that’ll help,” Grantaire said to distract them from that train of thought. Combeferre got up to get the books himself. It was too late to worry about the state of his room, but _he was sort of worried about the state of his room._

Courfeyrac leaned back and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. “This isn’t an obscure myth, it’s pretty popular. How did you miss it?” 

Grantaire threw the stack of menus down on the coffee table, causing Courfeyrac to pull his feet away with a cry, and then sat down, putting his head in his hands. “I don’t know.” 

Comeferre returned a moment later, books in his arms, already flipping though one. “I want to use the original Greek so we’ll have to get Pontmercy and Jehan to translate but here. We can at least get an idea of what we need.” He handed Courfeyrac the open book and handed the rest to Grantaire. 

Courfeyrac put his finger on the page and ran it lightly over the words. “So someone recreated this spell and used it on you.” 

“If they could do it. So can we. What do we need?”

Courfeyrac, ever helpful, put the book Combeferre handed him down on the couch and instead went to turn his movie off. He clicked around for a couple minutes and then found the aforementioned Minotaur movie. 

Grantaire flipped through the pages, doing his best studious Combeferre impression. Ariadne had been Dionysus’ wife so they needed wine. And lots of it. He frowned in a particularly Combeferre way until Courfeyrac caught his eyes and the two laughed. They went back to reading but every couple of minutes they would start laughing again at the absurdity of the situation. Combeferre gave a long suffering sigh every time. 

“Do you think Enjolras is going to murder me the moment we switch back or do you think he’ll give me a minute to compose myself?” Grantaire asked after a bout of particularly unhelpful silence. 

“Why is he going to kill you?” Combeferre asked without looking at him. It was killing _him_ to not know what was going on with them and Grantaire delighted in nothing but winding his friends up. 

“I’ve been lying to his face for days. And we were already in trouble before this. This is strike three.” 

“Oh we’re both well past strike three, and I’ve been lying to him too. And now Courfeyrac is roped in as well.” Combeferre continued in an infuriating calm tone. 

“Yeah but, you haven’t been completely invading his personal space—“

“Grantaire you are literally over our apartment five times a week,” Combeferre said slowly and Courfeyrac laughed like he had been holding it in for a century. 

Courfeyrac put his hand up like he was waiting to be called on, and Combeferre indulged him by nodding in his direction, “Let me tell him so he doesn’t think he’s on Phasyleia again.”

“Oh well it’s too late for that,” Grantaire said dryly. Sometimes he forgot about his first attempt at University—Courfeyrac had actually been the one to find him clinging to life in an alley on a near lethal cocktail of drugs—the worst of all was Phasyleia—which he never remembered how he got his hands on in the first place. It was so illegal, most people didn’t even know it was real. He sometimes forgot but Courfeyrac never really let that first impression go. It was a wonder that they were even here, all curled up on the same couch after all of that. It was really a wonder that Grantaire had survived at all. 

Courfeyrac turned to look at him squarely, “Take it from someone you were lying to. I knew something was up.” 

“No you most certainly did not,” Grantaire’s whisper was a little scandalized and Courfeyrac paled and glanced at Combeferre. Combeferre didn’t look up from his book and Courfeyrac glared at Grantaire before continuing. 

“Well, I didn’t realize you weren’t Combeferre but I knew something was up with you. Something was wrong with both of you Everyone realizes there’s something wrong. I promise you’re not as slick as you think. How many times did Enjolras ask you if you were okay?” 

Grantaire didn’t even acknowledge his question. 

Courfeyrac took it as confirmation that it had been a lot, “He’s going to be embarrassed because he said something to spook you.” Here, he exchanged a glance with Combeferre that made Grantaire’s cheeks heat up. “But he’s not going to be out for blood.” 

“Well I think he will be,” Grantaire mumbled, sounding like a petulant child. 

“Only because you two didn’t tell anyone! And now you’ve roped me into this as well!” 

“As long as we have a game plan we’ll be fine,” Combeferre said and that was that. 

After about a half hour, there was the sound of someone bumping into the front door. 

“Bossuet’s home,” Grantaire and Combeferre whispered together and Combeferre gathered up the books and darted off into Grantaire’s room with them. 

“I don’t know why you two are being so weird about this. We can tell everyone. It’ll be okay.” Courfeyrac frowned, continuing his research online. 

“The election.” 

“Oh, it has nothing to do with the election and you know it,” Courfeyrac whispered as Grantaire flicked his wrist and unlocked the door. 

“Oh this is nice,” Grantaire whispered back, glancing at his hand, as Bossuet walked in looking around suspicious. When his eyes landed on the pair of them he lit up. “Oh are we having a party?” Bossuet asked, kicking the door shut behind him. 

Grantaire missed him terribly so he gestured to the seat next to him. “We’re ordering take away.”

Bossuet bounded over to him. “Oh excellent. Let me ask Joly and ‘chetta what they want.” 

Combeferre walked back into the room and sent Grantaire a withering look. Grantaire laughed. Bossuet glanced up to both Grantaire and Combeferre as he typed away on his phone. Oh, so, yeah, Bossuet totally knew something was wrong. Fuck. Maybe if he hadn’t been freaking out so much he would have noticed. They were probably so weird at the meeting. 

Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows and Grantaire threw a pillow at him. Bossuet raised _his_ eyebrows at that and Grantaire sat back, trying to think of the last time Combeferre had thrown something at Courfeyrac. He all but worshiped him, treated him like he was something divine and Grantaire made fun of him constantly for it. Combeferre’s dedication was so devout, he might _never_ have thrown something at him. Whoops. 

Courfeyrac picked up the pillow and threw it back at him. 

“Joly wants vegan pizza.” Bossuet tactfully did not comment on the pathetic pillow fight going down next to him. 

“From—“ Grantaire began, excited, then he second guessed if Combeferre knew about the restaurant. “—where?” 

Courfeyrac threw another pillow at him for his piss-poor job at playing pretend and Grantaire laughed as he caught it with his face. He quickly pushed Combeferre’s glasses back up on his face. Bossuet handed him his phone with a menu open on the screen and Grantaire pretended to look at it before announcing he wanted the white pie. Courfeyrac and Combeferre put in their orders (they were splitting a pizza and ordered a salad for them all) and Bossuet shot the requests off to Joly before kicking his feet up onto the table. 

“So what are we watching? Grantaire, don’t you get tired of this shit?”

Grantaire frowned, he didn’t watch shitty mythology movies _that_ frequently, and Combeferre spoke up in his defense. “You can turn it off if you want but I know you won’t.” 

Bossuet looked at him like he was going to stand up to the challenge but he only leaned into the couch cushions and sighed, eyes on the television. “How do they not know that’s not Ariadne?” 

Grantaire held his breath to stop from laughing but Combeferre and Courfeyrac both snorted. 

“Seriously?” Grantaire hissed at the both of them and Bossuet glanced at him. 

“Don’t try to rationalize them, you’ll give yourself a headache.” Bossuet pat Grantaire on the knee and then raised his eyebrows at whatever his face was doing. “How ready are you for this election to be over so you don’t have to organize everyone’s schedules for them anymore?”

Grantaire had been doing no such thing and so he turned to Bossuet. “What are you going on about?” 

Bossuet turned away. “Don’t try to play coy.”

“I have zero idea what you’ve been doing the past couple days.” 

“Prouvaire told you about the merghost.” Bossuet raised his eyebrows and shook his head a little as he looked back at the screen. 

Grantaire sat up straighter and narrowed his eyes. He glared at Bossuet, watching the tv in a distinctly charming manor, Courfeyrac who wasn’t playing the slightest bit of attention, and Combeferre who had obviously been left out in the dark as well. 

“I’m going to destroy you.” Grantaire said because he hadn’t heard a peep about any merghost. If they were going to get on his case for being reckless and headstrong, he was going to get on Bossuet’s for this.

Bossuet laughed, “Not my fault.” 

“It’s always your fault.” Grantaire reminded him. 

Turning to him with a laugh, Bossuet tilted his head and threw a pillow at Combeferre. “Wow. R’s finally turned you to his side, huh?” 

“I’m on no one’s side.” Grantaire tried for gentle and patient but he did such a shit job at it that even Courfeyrac zoned back in. 

“Are you haunted?” He asked, looking like he was itching to get his hands on some sage or garlic.

“Experts say no,” Bossuet told him but this voice was clipped and Grantaire scooted away from him. Bossuet did not look at any of them and that made it so much worse. They let the threat of a haunting hang in the air until the movie ended. Then Bossuet chose a new one. Courfeyrac kept glancing at Grantaire and Grantaire was going to start giggling again. There was nothing even funny about this but he was so exhausted he couldn't help it and if he started laughing again, Bossuet was going to transfer the merghost without hesitation. 

Bossuet and Grantaire’s phones buzzed and Grantaire looked instinctively to the door.

Joly and Musichetta entered the room to triumphant fanfare. “To what do we owe this honor?” 

“Can’t we spend time with our friends?” Courfeyrac frowned in a way that was glaringly obvious he was keeping secrets. He had two settings—take secrets with him to the grave or announce them to the entire coffeeshop and then call up his sisters to tell them as well. Once he had taken out an ad in the paper to let Prouvaire know Bahorel was trying to apologize for something or other so he should answer his phone (incredibly, and a little worryingly, it had been the only thing that worked). 

“Let me grab some plates and drinks for everyone.” Grantaire said. 

“Oh, how nice.” Musichetta smiled, curling up into her usual spot on the loveseat. Grantaire climbed to his feet and carefully made his way into the other room. He was really starting to get used to Combefere’s feet. 

Joly followed him into the kitchen. “What are you two up to?”

Even as he spun around, Grantaire regretted the move. “Nothing, why?” Honestly, he might as well hang a big flashing sign that said he was lying. 

“Don’t. I know something’s up.” Joly raised his chin and pressed his lips together in a determined little frown. “Grantaire refuses to talk to me and he’s being distant and that means there’s something wrong. Again. Didn’t we just finish dealing with a crisis?”

Grantaire watched his face and Joly raised his eyebrow, daring him to continue to lie. He sighed, Joly was always the one who forced him to throw in the towel. “Tomorrow, okay? Just let it go until tomorrow.” 

“I’ve already called Grantaire’s sister. I’ll call yours as well.” Joly was still threatening him but he stretched his arm up to reach into the cabinet for plates and that meant that he was letting things go. Grantaire had until tomorrow and then Joly was going to pull the truth from him by whatever means necessary. 

Honestly, things were weird enough without their sisters meddling in their lives. They could take a couple days off. 

“You don’t have to call anyone because this is tomorrow’s problem. As in, we’ll deal with it tomorrow. Do you know where you’re going for the phone bank?”

Joly frowned and tilted his head, of course he knew where he was going, that had been such a poor deflection. Joly didn’t call him out though, he just grabbed the cups and a pitcher of water to bring out to the others and let the conversation drop. 

Grantaire followed him back out to the common area where the others were tucking into the pizza sans plates. Honestly, he couldn’t blame them, it was the best pizza he’d ever had and he and Joly once went on a pizza road trip instead of sitting exams one year. It was a wonder they had even survived until today. As a matter of fact, they had gotten cursed on that road trip. Nothing serious but it had still been a bitch and a half to get rid of. 

Grantaire handed out plates anyway and scarfed down as much pizza as quickly as he could. He was ready to go before the third movie was over. He had seen it a hundred times before (Combeferre let it be known obviously hadn’t because he had a thousand questions, but that was just one more weird thing for their friends to ponder upon until tomorrow). 

“See you in the morning?” Grantaire asked, pulling Combeferre’s favorite coat and shoes on. 

Courfeyrac didn’t look up from the computer. “Yeah, see you.” Combeferre glanced up and sent him a momentary glare before he leaned back over Courfeyrac’s shoulder and pointed something out on the computer. He didn’t know what they were looking at and he was tired so he didn't care.

Grantaire suppressed his smile and went out into the hall. Musichetta raised her eyebrows as he passed her making tomorrow’s lunch in the kitchen. “You’re not taking him with you?”

“Nope, he’s your problem tonight.” 

It wasn’t until after he was outside that Grantaire realized that was a vaguely alarming thing for Combeferre to say. But it was too late to take it back so he just hurried back to Enjolras and Combeferre’s flat without looking behind him.

* * *

Grantaire didn’t know you could feel guilty for brushing your teeth but here he was—six thirty in the morning standing in Enjolras and Combeferre’s bathroom. Enjolras was next to him, sharing the sink as they both got ready to run out the door, polls opened at seven in most places and they had a small morning rush that would be exciting if it weren’t for, you know, all this. All he could think about was how this was a betrayal of trust. Enjolras was being vulnerable with who he thought was his best friend, not Grantaire. Again. He should have just stayed at his own apartment last night.

He tried to think of the fact he was, in fact, pleased people were actually getting off their asses and trying to make some sort of change. It was little and it was a long time coming, but it was something. At the very least it would relieve the slump in his friends’ shoulders for a little while. He had to go and befriend fucking martyrs.

Enjolras pulled his hair up into a bun atop his head. “Come on, let’s win the vote.”

He was so adorably confident, Grantaire couldn’t help but smile. 

This was just one step in the right direction. This was the bare minimum. But if it made his friends happy, the bare minimum would be enough today. 

He followed Enjolras silently from the flat and only offered a tight lipped smile when they stopped into a little parteissare where they picked up xuixos and Enjolras divided them into two bags. He put one into his shoulder bag and gave the other to Grantaire. 

“For Grantaire,” he said, legitimately almost vibrating with pent-up energy. Looking over to him, he added, “I know they’re his favorite.” 

“Thank you, I’ll make sure he knows they’re from you.” Grantaire said, and he made himself look down the street so he didn’t have to look at Enjolras as he was being kind. The sun was shining down bright and hopefully it was a good sign. His life themed itself around the weather, sometimes he liked to pretend it was magical and not coincidental.

“This isn’t like—anything.” Enjolas told him quickly, “I got some for—”

Grantaire laughed and bit his tongue. “I know. It’s fine. Hurry up and go or we’re going to be late.” 

They both knew they were right on time but Grantaire had given Enjolras an out and he took it. Xuixos _were_ Grantaire’s favorite so he helped himself to one before Enjolras was even out of sight. What was he going to do? Yell at Combeferre? Unlikely. 

Xuixo in hand, Grantaire booked it down the sidewalk, eager to get to Combeferre and to stop pretending everything was normal. 

He caught up to Combeferre as he was backing Grantaire’s 1998 Renault Megane Scenic out from it’s precarious parking spot. He kicked the passenger side door in the bottom left corner as he tugged at the handle and slipped into the car before Combeferre could coax it into park. He coasted into the street and then put it into drive. 

Grantaire kicked his feet up and offered him the pastry bag as he looked around the inside of the car, Combeferre had cleaned a little. Combeferre sighed but reached into the bag and took one. He looked at the pastry like it greatly offended him and then to Grantaire like he was absolutely fed up with his entire existence. 

“It isn’t like—anything.” Grantaire quoted in a voice that was such a mix of Enjolras and Combeferre that it startled a laugh from him “He got them for everyone.” 

“Well, as long as you gave him shit for it, I guess.” Combeferre said half to himself and took a bite as they set off down the road. Combeferre yawned instead of saying anything else and Grantaire laughed. “Did you and Courfeyrac figure it out?” 

“Mostly. There are a couple things I want to talk to Joly about but worst comes to worst, we just wait this out. I have plenty of sick days and I like going to the museum.”

Honestly, Grantaire wouldn’t say no to a vacation. 

It wouldn’t be ideal in any sense of the word but he could probably relax on the couch for a couple days. Once they told the others the truth, he could go back home and maybe he could finish marathoning that space show he had dropped a couple months ago. Plus, Enjolras couldn’t do anything to him without also hurting Combeferre so that was good. Of course, the odds were that once they told everyone about their problem, they’d have the curse off them in a couple hours. 

“Have you been completely exhausted lately?” Combeferre’s voice was quiet and his eyes were unfocused on the road in front of them. Grantaire made a show of looking into the bag and then grabbing another xuixo out to hand to him. He took it with a small smile. 

“I mean, I don’t think any more than usual?” 

Combeferre made some sort of noise Grantaire was sure he had never made before and they didn’t talk about it anymore. 

The majority of the people they were giving a lift to were strangers so it was easy to talk about the weather and the latest pop cultures nonsense without having to worry about then suspecting anything was out of the ordinary. One of the more famous pop stars whose name Grantaire literally could not remember (seriously—he suspects someone jinxed him for fun and he was to stubborn to demand whoever it was—Courfeyrac or Marius were his top guesses—to take it off) had magicked her hair into snakes and there was a whole conversation going on about whether her hair now required the protection of animal rights activists or if it the hissing mass was still her hair and therefore her fucking choice). 

There were a couple who greeted one or both of them warmly with a kiss on the cheek and for them they tried to act like the other. Did this sometimes lead to heated bouts of over-aggressive pretending with the next passenger? Yeah, but it made the day go by faster. 

Combeferre had worked his magic and got them off the road by six. Polls were still open in some places until ten and they were all due to gather at Prouvaire’s (for he swore to exorcise his apartment well before they all showed up this time) at around eight thirty. There were other groups still giving lifts but exhaustion was creeping into Grantaire's muscles and he was not complaining. 

“I’m going to go back to your flat to pick up my books and take a nap—your bed is so comfortable by the way—and I’ll meet you at Prouvaire’s in a bit,” Combeferre told him as he dropped him off at a cafe so he could grab some coffee. Enjolras and Combeferre’s flat was empty but now that they were switching gears and trying to figure out how to get back to their lives, hanging out in their flat had started to feel weird. The novelty of being Combeferre was starting to wear off and he just felt so guilty it was becoming a physical weight on his chest. 

“Good luck getting her back into the parking spot.” Grantaire smiled, patting the hood of the car, and Combeferre drove off, flipping him off. 

Before today, Grantaire wasn’t even really sure Combeferre had his license and now here he was letting him drive off in his most prized vintage. Too bad he wasn’t sure if it was growth or laziness. 

He shoved his hands into Combeferre’s jacket pockets and ducked into the coffee shop. 

* * *

Grantaire didn’t mean to, but he was the first one at Prouvaire’s flat. It wasn’t his fault, he just really didn’t want to go back to Enjolras and Combeferre’s. The poet held his door open and looked behind Grantaire in the doorway. When he saw he was alone, he frowned and then looked at him pointedly. “So what’s going on with you?”

Grantaire sighed, he was tired and annoyed with everything. He would have been delighted to hear Prouvaire take that tone with Combeferre but he wasn’t Combeferre was he? No, he was just trapped in his friend’s fucking body and—-

None of this was Prouvaire’s fault. 

Grantaire put what he hoped was a Combeferre-esque smile on his face. “Nothing, why?”

Prouvaire crossed his arms and stood his ground. “You skipped class yesterday and Enjolras said he had to drag you out running.” 

“Oh, is everyone talking about it?” Grantaire snapped and then sighed and apologized. 

“Well, we don’t know what it is so basically we’re just worried about you. And Grantaire. If you were in trouble, you would tell us right?” 

Joly had once said the same thing to him right before Grantaire went out, vanished for several days and then had a stranger drag him back. In his defense, the stranger had been Courfeyrac but no one ever gave him credit for bringing him into their lives. 

Grantaire looked to him and sighed, He opened his mouth to tell him everything when the door was kicked open and Courfeyrac and Marius came in with the takeaway. 

Courfeyrac waved to them as he went to the common area to start laying out food. Baptistine hadn’t wanted a big gathering for election results, Cosette and Éponine were with her, along with some of the others Grantaire honestly didn’t care to learn the names of. So they were having their own little celebration. 

“Is Courfeyrac cross with you?” Prouvaire’s tone started out teasing but ended up concerned. 

Grantaire shook his head. “I’ll explain later.” 

“You’re not leaving without telling me.” 

That was fine. That was the plan and the couch was calling his name, anyway. He might sleep through the announcement of the winner at this rate. This wasn’t fair—he had gone to bed early last night as well. He was so mad at Combeferre for jinxing him. In fact, if he wasn’t currently inhabiting his own magic-less body, he’d be convinced he _had_ jinxed him. 

Prouvaire looked to him and frowned. Grantaire knew he was noticing the lack of love-struck on Combeferre’s face with Courfeyrac’s entrance. It was a good thing they were going to tell everyone today because if everyone started actually looking, they were going to guess immediately. 

As it was, Prouivaire was probably going to figure it out the moment Combeferre got here. All he had to do was put two and two together and for a poet he was surprisingly good at math.

Grantaire used the cover of the others making their way into the flat (Bahorel had arrived at some point but he had emerged from Prouvaire’s bedroom the first time Grantaire had noticed him—it was probably nothing to worry about) and to sit on the couch next to Pontmercy and just quietly eat some nachos. 

If his eyes kept slipping shut, well, it had been a long day for everyone. 

Enjolras and Combeferre walked into the flat together. Enjolras was talking animatedly and Combeferre all but sheparded him over towards them. He sent Courfeyrac a look he couldn’t decipher which was rude and sat Enjolras down next to him. He didn’t even glance at Grantaire which was even ruder. Grantaire thought he had thick skin but this was getting to be a bit much. 

“Now I see why Combeferre showed up on his own looking lost.” Prouvaire teased and—Morgan help him, Enjolras’ cheeks went a little pink. Combeferre frowned a pointedly Combeferre frown—even on Grantaire’s lips—as he sat down on the floor next to Courfeyrac across from them. He grabbed one of Marius’ last tacos but Marius was unfazed and just supplemented with some of Grantaire’s chips. 

“Enjolras stopped by the flat to pick me up because someone told him I was refusing to get out of bed.” Combeferre told him loudly with a glance to the kitchen. Grantaire might have fallen asleep at some point because he couldn’t remember who was in there. 

“Well were you?” he asked, grabbing the last bit of nacho before Marius could and then breaking the clump in half so they could share. Marius’ smile was hesitant and, fuck, he had forgotten Marius was weirdly intimidated by Combeferre. Goddamn it, he had so much power and he squandered it. He was losing his touch. 

Combeferre lifted his chin, the definition of haughty. “I was in the process of getting up.” 

“In his defense, it’s a complicated process,” Joly piped up and Grantaire breathed in to calm himself down at his sudden appearance. Enjolras wasn’t the only one he was betraying. It was his friends too. How many little comments had Joly or Bossuet said to Combeferre that were intended for him? 

And Prouvaire. And the others too—whispering behind their backs. 

“Guys—we won the vote!” Feuilly flung the door open, his voice little more than an excited whisper as if he could jinx it. There were instant cheers and hugs and Grantaire forced a smile onto his face as he looked at Courfeyrac. 

Courfeyrac flinched at the sudden noise. He had bags under his eyes and he kept yawning as he high fived everyone. Well, serves him right for staying over with Combeferre. Although, surprisingly, the other man looked very well rested, despite his self professed desperate need for a nap and the aforementioned nap that Enjolras had to wake him up from. It was probably a relief to stop lying to him. Maybe he should have told Bossuet and Joly after all? 

They could all multitask. Maybe they were wrong and it would have been fine?

“They called it early because Baptistine won in such a landslide.” Feuilly smiled. He caught Grantaire’s eye and raised his eyebrow. Looking around, he narrowed his eyes at Combeferre. Combeferre didn’t see him, too engrossed in trying to stealthily watch Courfeyrac to notice. “Don’t tell me what’s going on until after I’ve had at least two quesadillas.” 

“What makes you think we ordered you quesadillas?” Bossuet frowned, going to sit nearly on top of Combeferre who only lifted his arm so he could cuddle. Grantaire pointedly frowed because he was still sandwiched between Marius and Enjolras and he couldn’t fuckin cuddle with either of them right now, could he? 

He looked to Enjolras who was frowning at the coffee table like he was ready to dismantle it. 

“What’s the matter?” Grantaire asked him, nudging him with his elbow. He had been distracted and distant ever since he got here. Usually after a victory he’d allow himself a smile at least. 

Enjolras glanced to him and then quickly away. Grantaire narrowed his eyes. He hadnt fucking done anything. Well, not that Enjolras currently knew about at any rate.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact he had dragged Combeferre here from Grantaire’s bed. Maybe he was finally realizing what was going on. 

Honestly, it’s kinda about time. Grantaire wasn’t Combeferre and eventually someone was going to notice. 

“Combeferre, your sister said if you don’t call her back soon, she’s showing up at your flat,” Joly called from across the room. Grantaire was glad he was on the other side of the room because when his best friends realized what was wrong, they were going to hit him. 

“Stop calling her!” Grantaire groaned and Combeferre frowned. 

“Maybe if you called her back!” Joly frowned and Bahorel laughed. 

“I’ll call her back when I have a spare moment to myself.” Grantaire looked to Combeferre with a frown, why was he ignoring his sisters’ calls?

Prouvaire leaned over to Musichetta and started whispering to her. She looked to Combeferre and frowned. Grantaire wanted to scream but he was very adult about it and he did not. He tried to catch Combeferre’s eye but he was not looking up from his phone. Fine. He was just going to stand up and make up his—

He chanced a glance at Enjolras. His gaze was still in his lap and Grantaire sighed. 

“No, seriously, Enjolras, what do you have?” 

Enjolras didn’t look up at him, just at whatever paper was in his hands but at least he answered him. “I received this letter in the mail. I found it when I stopped home.” 

“Is it a love letter?” Prouvaire asked without a hint of teasing in his voice. 

“Absolutely not, it’s a threat.” Enjolras glanced up to Prouvaire and then back down to the letter. It looked innocent enough, typed, twelve point font, Times New Roman. Well honestly, you shouldn’t trust anything in Times New Roman so maybe innocent was the wrong word to use. You could hide a lot of spells inside that font. 

“A what?” Grantaire asked, his voice flat and Enjolras looked to him and then sharply away. They did not deserve to have another threat thrown in their face. They had won, they had rallied the people of Paris and collectively they voted for reproductive health and more rights for merfolk. Nevermind the fact that he, personally, was exhausted. He and Combeferre were already dealing with a curse, they didn’t need anything else right now. 

“Well, read it so we know what we’re dealing with,” Bahorel frowned, grabbing Courfeyrac’s cider and taking a sip. Courfeyrac frowned but it was more so in the direction of the letter. 

Enjolras looked down at the letter, his fingers were so tight around it the paper crinkled, “Good luck winning the election when your friends can’t even tell themselves apart,” he read like it was his own death sentence. Which was weird, right? That was a weird way to react to that threat. 

Oh no, maybe—maybe Enjolras had been changed with someone else? But who? And when? Grantaire glanced around the room but the only one who looked like they knew what was going on was Combeferre. Which, yikes. Hopefully no one noticed. 

“Has anyone been cloned?” Joly asked seriously, leaning forward, grabbing his cane and knocking it on the floor. 

“No one’s been cloned.” Feuilly told him evenly and Joly leaned back in his seat unconvinced. He narrowed his eyes at Feuilly who narrowed them right back. There had been a Clone Incident and that’s all they were allowed to acknowledge. There had been one and they didn’t talk about it. 

“What the shit does that mean?” Bahorel sat up straight, eyes on Enjolras and the letter. “Your friends can’t tell themselves apart? Like—Harry Potter when they all disguise themself as Harry? But that obviously hasn’t happened.” 

Enjolras pressed his lips together and didn’t say anything. 

Feuilly leaned forward, “No one’s had their memories replaced?” 

“Would we know if they had?” Marius tightened his grip around his cup. “And it sounds more like they would have scrambled the memories. Swapped them around so I would think I’ve lived Grantaire’s life and he would think he’s lived Feuilly’s life.” 

Bossuet sighed and leaned back into Combeferre, “Oh thank god, that means one of _you_ texted your entire class a love spell when you were fourteen?”

“No, that was you, Boss.” Joly laughed,rolling his eyes fondly. 

Musichetta looked at her boyfriends and then to everyone else, “It sounds like they’re planning on body-swapping us? Not just our memories but actually putting our consciousness into someone else.” 

“Oh, absolutely _not_.” Prouvaire frowned and Grantaire almost laughed. If anything, Grantaire would think he would relish the chance to have a night off from hauntings.

But, _oh_ . Of course—this is what happened to him and Combeferre. There wasn’t another problem, this was _his_ problem that they’ve already mostly dealt with. 

“No it sounds like they already _have_. Because they wanted to distract us from the vote. Which we weren’t.” Feuilly leaned back in his seat but his lips were pressed together into a frown. “How long have you had that?”

“Couple days,” Enjolras said quietly and there was something weird about the way he said that— He had been holding onto the letter for days?

Marius leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “So it failed?”

Enjolras bit his lip and took a deep breath. Courfeyrac looked at him and frowned. They both glanced at Combeferre. Wow, what a way to be subtle. 

The double motion caught Joly’s attention and a legitimately horrified expression creeped onto his face. “Enjolras?” Joly began slowly, “Or—“ he looked around the room but Enjolras leaned forward and initiated the nerdiest handshake Grantaire had ever seen with Courfeyrac.

Enjolras cheeks started to redden as he turned to Grantaire and everyone looked to him in confusion. Grantaire hesitated and Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows and pressed his lips together, shrugging. Enjolras put his fist out and Grantaire managed to copy four moves before fucking up. Enjolras turned to Combeferre instead. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He demanded and while he didn’t sound particularly angry, he did sound upset. 

“The vote was more important.” Combeferre shrugged and Grantaire snickered to see Bossuet’s eyes bug out. Joly nearly flung himself from his seat. 

“How long?” Enjolras frowned, ignoring Grantaire to a point it was glaring obvious. 

“Just a couple days.” Combeferre shrugged again. 

Joly looked to Grantaire. “You’ve been pretending to be Combeferre for days?”

“Yep.” He propped his feet up on the table and from the corner of his eye he could see that Enjolras wasn’t looking anywhere near him.

“You and Enjolras have been living together and no one died.” Joly pressed on, sharing a glance with Musichetta but she was on her phone and trying to ignore everyone.

“Yeah,” Grantaire said. Did they really think they would kill each other? Hadn’t they been friends for years at this point? Hadn’t they spent an entire night in a waiting room together when Bahorel had gotten his ass handed to him in a pub brawl? Hadn’t they set up Courfeyrac’s Surprise 24th birthday party alone because everyone else was busy distracting him? Didn’t he and Enjolras go out for coffee at least once every two weeks just to argue until their drinks went cold? 

“You should have said something.” Bahorel frowned. “You two were literally attacked because of this election and you both just shrugged it off?”

Grantaire shrugged again to show that yeah, they could go with that story. “We have it pretty much figured out. It’s an old spell—the same one used in Crete when Ariadne and Theseus swapped bodies and Ariadne defeated the Minotaur. Like exactly the same. They went old school on this, probably because they thought we’d never be able to figure it out and undo it but we’re just not sure on some of the finer details but we’ve got it under control.” Grantaire looked around the room to see if they were going to buy his confidence. Combeferre looked like he wanted to say something but he thankfully stayed quiet. Courfeyrac narrowed his eyes but also kept his mouth shut. 

“You should have come to me right away.” Joly crossed his arms over his chest and sent the best fatherly look he could muster. It was actually kind of impressive. 

Grantaire let his shoulders slump in relief, “You would have laughed and told everyone.”

“No I wouldn’t have!” Grantaire raised an eyebrow and Joly giggled, “Well, yeah I would’ve. Okay, but now I can help you. We’ll have you two back to normal before you know it. We don’t have to defeat the Minotaur, do we?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes and they both ignored Prouvaire’s offended gasp. 

“Courf, sweetheart, I have one question,” Bossuet called across the room, his eyebrows raised. 

Coufeyrac looked at him and guessed what he was going to ask. He smiled wide, “Oh no yeah, Grantaire told me yesterday.” 

“Why?” Bahorel asked, looking offended he hadn’t been told as well. 

Courfeyrac’s smile vanished in an instant. “It became necessary.”

“Oh?” Bossuet and Bahorel said together and then shared a smile. 

“That’s it.” Courfeyrac gave a little half shrug and pulled his legs in to sit on his feet. 

“Interesting,” Bossuet drawled and he leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms and putting his hands behind his head. He kept watching Courfeyrac, and Courfeyrac, the dear, started cleaning up the table in front of him awkwardly. Grantaire crumpled up a napkin and lobbed it over to Bossuet. It hit him square in the nose. 

Bossuet picked up the napkin and placed it on the table in front of him, “See if we didn’t know you weren’t Combeferre, we would now.” 

“Stop tormenting him!” Grantaire hissed as Courfeyrac almost knocked over Musichetta’s drink. 

Bossuet frowned. “Are you replacing us, or is this some sort of side effect of being Combeferre?”

“Did you just imply that being nice to me was—“ Courfeyrac began but Bahorel cut him off with a sharp whisper. 

Grantaire leaned back in his chair and looked at his best friends evenly. Joly wasn’t looking at them, he had a far away look in his eye that screamed that he was taking inventory of everything he had said to Combeferre over the past couple days. 

Courfeyrac, however, wasn’t done, “I just want everyone to know that—for the record—Grantaire’s little confident speech about the nature of the curse is because I helped them figure it out yesterday. They were lost without me.”

“Before everyone gets pissed with us and hexes our drinks—we were planning on telling you all tonight.” Grantaire sighed and Enjolras looked to him and then away again. Well, at least that glance could be called progress. 

“I can unfortunately vouch for him with this one,” Joly frowned like it pained him greatly to admit. 

“He did just tell me he wasn’t leaving until he told me what was troubling him. I didn’t quite expect possession.” Prouvaire frowned. 

“It’s not.” Grantaire and Combeferre said at once and something in their tone set Enjolras off. He started laughing and pushed himself off the couch, cheeks flushing. 

Feuilly went after him as he made a hasty coward’s exit instead of facing Grantaire’s outrage. He had spent so long worrying over his reaction—his justified anger—and Enjolras had _laughed_. 

“To be fair, if the pair of you were really possessed, he’d be the most upset,” Prouvaire looked at Grantaire with something like sympathy in his eyes. 

“No he absolutely would not be,” Bossuet drew in a deep breath and sat up straighter. Prouvaire pursed his lips and reached out in apology. Bossuet allowed him to take his hands but didn’t look at him. A small smile formed on Prouvaire’s lips and Bossuet smirked before they both let go. 

“I think you two broke Enjolras.” Joly said, getting up and sitting in Enjolras’ deserted space. “How was he the past couple days?”

“Clingy and brought me up in conversation a little bit more than was expected but...”

Marius chuckled next to him and took a sip of his drink rather judgmentally. 

“If you have something of value to add to this conversation, go right ahead,” Grantaire told him dryly. 

Marius looked at him and took another sip and then he smiled. “Oh I don’t.” 

“I’m getting another drink,” Grantaire told them all flatly and pushed himself up. 

“Is it weird walking in Combeferre’s shoes?” Bahorel looked down at his feet as if he expected him to fall flat on his face just standing there. 

“Yes actually, you all would have loved to see us the first day. I think I still have bruises. Well, I know I still have one but that was ‘ferre’s fault so I don’t feel bad about that one.” 

Joly waved at him like he wanted him to stay put, “Wait, sit back down. Can you feel his body or do you still feel yours.” Grantaire sat down again and Marius let him take a sip of his drink. It was fruity and sour and at least eighty percent rum. “I feel exactly like this is my body but I’m not used to it. Like his feet are so much bigger than mine it’s like walking with—do not.”

His friends—Combeferre fucking included—only blinked innocently at him despite the fact they had all just pointedly raised their eyebrows.

“If you want to know anything about this out of body experience, Combeferre has been taking extensive notes.” Grantaire said and Bahorel, Joly and Musichetta all turned to him. Bossuet leaned back into him and Combeferre slung his arm around his shoulder as he pulled out his phone to discuss his notes with the others. 

Feuilly and Enjolras returned, Enjolras now once again composed and professional. Grantaire yawned and Marius took his drink back. 

“I’m making coffee but I will be spiking it,” Grantaire pushed himself to his feet and yawned again. Joly and Musichetta took Combeferre’s phone and whispered back and forth. He let it go without protest. 

“So I vote we don’t do anything tonight and we just start fresh in the morning.” Combeferre said, taking Courfeyrac’s phone away from him. Courfeyrac frowned but let it happen. 

“You were asleep for hours by the time I stopped by to pick you up.” Enjolras told him with a concerned frown. 

“I’m exhausted.” Combeferre shrugged. 

“Well, get over here and make yourself some coffee too,” Grantaire dug around in the cabinets he was now tall enough to reach. That was the one thing he was going to miss—sod the magic, he just liked the lift. 

“I have a whiskey blend somewhere on the top shelf,” Prouvaire called and Grantaire stood up on his toes to dig around for it. By the time Combeferre got over to him, he had the unopened bag of coffee down. “This a ghost gift?”

“Yep.” Prouvaire called nonchalantly. 

Grantaire shrugged and went to open it when Combeferre gave a quiet little grunt like he had just stubbed his toe. Grantaire glanced at him over his shoulder. 

Combeferre froze and blinked several times, he grabbed hold of the edge of the table and blinked again to clear his vision. 

“What the fuck kind of dark magic flows through your veins?” Combeferre hissed. 

Grantaire shook his head, “None?”

“This is bad—” Combeferre said and he sounded it too. 

“Guys—” Grantaire called, panicked. 

“What?” Enjolras appeared at his elbowed instantly, a hand gentle on his arm. 

“Combeferre—“ 

Combeferre scrunched his eyes shut and shook his head. Enjolras hovered between the two of them, completely unsure as to who to go to. 

With Combeferre seemingly unable to talk, Grantaire turned towards the others, “He said I have dark magic in my veins?” He was grasping at straws. Why was this happening to Combeferre only—he felt fine. He paused and took stock of everything from his fingers to his chest to his feet, his right leg was sort of sore but only slightly and it had been a near constant the past couple of days. 

Bossuet looked at him like he couldn’t quite believe him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah he—“ Grantaire began but then he looked back at Bossuet, suddenly realizing his tone, “wait—“

“Wait yourself, are you trying to tell me you haven’t noticed the dark magic clinging to you?” Grantaire shook his head helplessly. Bossuet crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. “It’s been with you so long it’s literally a part of you.” 

Combeferre put a hand up to cut off their brewing argument. “You’re not in danger. This is a weight you've carried. I think I’m just not used to it and sometimes it flares up.” Heat flooded his cheeks and, Morgan, did his face always turn that red when he blushed? _Ugh_. “I think it did it once before but I thought I just pulled something?”

Shrugging, Grantaire put the bag of coffee beans down on the counter, “Yeah, it happens. I don’t stretch enough.” 

“I swear to Morgan I’m going to lose my mind if it turns out you’ve been having frequent attacks of dark magic...” Bossuet whispered. 

“It hasn’t killed me yet?” Grantaire shrugged and then once he saw the looks on his friend's faces—ranging from terror to horror to Courffeyrac’s pink nose and white knuckles. “I mean it’s not. It’s nothing serious.” 

“You are the least qualified to know that out of all of us.” Enjolras’ voice was a terrifying mix of fear and absolute fury and Grantaire’s halfhearted smile soured on his lips. 

“I’ve never had any sort of serious problem before.” 

“So you have had problems.” Enjolras grabbed his wrists and ran his thumbs over his skin in tiny little circles. “You can tell us, we’re not going to—I don’t know, do whatever it is you think we’re going to do.” 

“It’s nothing. Occasional aches and pains that are honestly probably just because we’re not teenagers anymore.”

“Swear you’re telling us the truth.” 

“I swear I’ve not been silently suffering for years.” Joly and Enjolras both raised their eyebrows and Grantaire let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. “We’ve already had this talk and I swear I have no more terrible secrets. You all know them all.” He yawned and Enjolras relinquished his grip on his wrists so he could cover his mouth.

“I’m fine.” Combeferre said, somehow sounding it, and he stood up straight “I don’t know what that was but it’s passed. I’m fine.” 

“Fine.” Enjolras said sharply. “Everyone meet at Grantaire, Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta’s tomorrow morning, we’re going to break this curse.” 

“You couldn’t have kept quiet for another day? I want to sleep in.” Bahorel sighed but he looked more worried about this than he did anything the past year. Everyone started to pack up but a wave of panic washed over Grantaire and he found himself following after Enjolras to the coat closet. 

Enjolras turned and leaned against the wall next to the closet. He opened his mouth to say something and then puffed his cheeks out in frustration. Grantaire chuckled and then sighed and put his hands in his pockets. Then he took them out and then he put them back in. And back out. 

“Enjolras, I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you but if we were all distracted and let this slip through our fingers—we would have felt terrible. Baptistine and everyone put so much effort into this. And we didn’t know if this was something we did or not and we _just_ finished cleaning up my last mess. And not to mention whatever Combferre did to his leg. And I should have stopped you the other night, it was an unforgivable break of privacy and—”

There was a hint of a smile on his face and what the fuck did that even mean? “It’s fine. Go let the others calm you down. We’re all going to get some sleep and we’ll talk after we break the curse.”

“I am sorry.” 

Enjolras smiled softly, a blush still on his cheeks, as he shook his head. “It’s alright. We’ll talk about it later.” Enjolras turned to leave and then looked back, looking incredulous. “You went running with me.” 

“Three whole times. Are you impressed?” 

“Now that I know that there isn’t something seriously wrong with Combeferre, yes I actually am.” 

“I only tripped a couple times.” 

“You had all the grace of a baby giraffe.” 

“When you thought I was Combeferre you only said nice things about me to me.” 

“I think we know why that was.” Enjolras said and they both shut their mouths quickly. 

Grantaire took a deep breath and then let it out. “Actually go to bed because I want this curse gone tomorrow.” 

“I can’t believe how much you let me get away with.” 

“Believe me it was killing me I couldn’t go and hide your phone. Combeferre is an instigator and I didn’t realize just how much until I had to pretend to be him.” 

“Alright gentlemen, can you hold off on whatever this is until tomorrow?” Bahorel said, taking their coats out and handing them off. Enjolras silently slipped his on and Grantaire barely pulled his over his shoulders before Bahorel took him by the upper arm and dragged him away. 

Bahorel frogmarched him to the door, very nearly pouting. 

“What’s the matter?” Grantaire asked with a sigh, when Bahorel wanted to talk he made it known. 

“I have so many good Combeferre blackmail pictures but they’re useless now because everyone’s going to just think they’re you.” 

Grantaire pursed his lips and couldn’t decide if that was something he should be offended about or not. “They’ll still work on Courfeyrac.” 

“Yeah they will,” Bahorel said and his tone was so devious that Grantaire grabbed onto Musichetta and tugged her towards the door. 

“Keep that one safe,” she told Courfeyrac who was showing Combeferre something on his phone like absolutely nothing was wrong. He gave her a toothy smile and then looked back to the phone. 

“Okay goodnight,” Grantaire called and then dragged his lot from the flat to the sound of the others distracted calls of goodnight. 

They filed down the stairs with Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Combeferre and Feuilly on their heels. If you did the math that meant there was still someone in Prouvaire’s flat and Grantaire just guessed they weren’t going to bring attention to it. Feuilly would update them on his brother’s business when he felt like it. 

“Carry me home,” Joly said kicking at the back of Grantaire’s legs until he bent down so he could climb onto his back. 

“If you break my glasses, you’re buying me new ones,” Combeferre warned but Courfeyrac had his arm tucked into his and he was dragging him down the street after Enjolras and Feuilly. The pair of them were whispering fiercely back and forth. 

Bossuet pushed Joly up so that he was safely in place and Grantaire grabbed onto his legs to keep him from choking him. 

Musichetta collected his cane and tapped it against her feet. “I’ll keep an eye on them.” 

“Thank you.” Combeferre smiled and then they were all off. 

“So did any of you notice that Bahorel didn’t leave?” Joly asked, leaning his chin on Grantaire’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, what the fuck was that about,” Musichetta whispered, glancing back to the flat quickly. 

“One mystery at a time please.” 

“Why did they go after you and Combeferre?’ Musichetta nudged Grantaire and he sighed as he stopped Joly from slipping. 

Joly did nothing to help him, he just rested his chin on his shoulder. “They mailed the letter to Combeferre and Enjolras’ flat. It’s because he keeps inviting himself over for breakfast. They were aiming at Enjolras and he got in the way.”

“The jam doesn’t even taste good now.” Grantaire sighed forlornly. 

All three of his friends dissolved into laughter and Grantaire smiled. They made it home without Grantaire dropping Joly once and the three of them dragged Grantaire into their bed despite his complaints of Combeferre being too lanky. 

* * *

The bedroom door slammed open followed by a perfectly guiltless, “Oops.” 

Grantaire rolled onto his side and pretended to be asleep as his heart pounded in his throat. Joly laughed quietly and kicked the door shut. For a moment Grantaire allowed himself to believe that Joly had seen that he was still asleep and was leaving him alone. Grantaire was alone in their bed and the sun was shining outside. He just wanted to sleep in. 

“Are you still my best friend?” Joly asked, sitting down roughly on the edge of the bed and Grantaire’s daydream was dashed. 

“Yes?” Grantaire asked, he was just getting his footing back and his friends were determined to push him off center. 

“So, we went and bought some of your favorite food because we thought something was wrong. But it turns out you were just acting weird because you were, in fact, Combeferre so we are fully prepared just in case the switch back sucks.” 

Grantaire sat up, propping himself up with his hands. “I couldn’t bring myself to jeopardize Baptistine’s chances.”

“Grantaire,” Joly said, turning to him and grabbing his wrist, forcing him to sit up properly so he didn’t fall back into the pillows, “don’t be an idiot. You are more important than any vote. We can fight again in the morning, we can march to overturn unjust laws but if something happens to you—how are we supposed to fix it if it’s too late?” 

“Combeferre agreed with me.”

Joly rolled his eyes and gave his hand a little shake in frustration. “Unfortunately, you and Combeferre are the same. You both say one thing and then do another.” He narrowed his eyes when Grantaire went to open his mouth. “No don’t argue with me. Bossuet’s going to yell at you next, ‘Chetta too. And you’re going to shut up for once in your life and listen. I can’t believe you two stayed quiet for what four days? All because you didn’t know if you had done this to yourselves.” 

“Maybe I could bring myself to shut up and listen after some coffee.” He reached for Joly’s mug but he just laughed and pulled it away. 

“Oh absolutely not. You were targeted and cursed and the pair of you ignored it because you didn’t want anyone telling you they told you to be more careful.” 

Grantaire watched Joly turn and flee the room and he was left with no other choice than to grab a sweater from the back of a chair and pull it on. What his favorite sweater was doing in their room was beyond him but he wasn’t going to complain. It was a little snug but he was stubbornly refusing to relinquish his hoodie. The shower turned on in the bathroom and he sat back down onto the bed and put his face in his hands. He was exhausted but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it meant whatever spell was on them was weakening and they were about to switch places again. 

Grantaire’s relationship with his body was turbulent at worst and it was a little odd to be missing it. He didn’t think he would, honestly, when he entertained the teenage notion of waking up as someone else. 

Grantaire unlocked his phone to scroll through his emails. None of the senders even registered with him so he tossed it into his pillows and pushed himself to his feet. He stretched his back and then went down the hall to find that their kitchen was already entertaining guests. Or well, at least Feuilly. Maybe he had been sexiled from his brother’s apartment. 

“I can’t believe he never realized the dark magic!” Bossuet cried over his coffee to Musichetta and Feuilly. “I always thought he was just rolling with it—like me and my luck.” 

Grantaire leaned on the door frame. “Calm your tits, Sitka. I don’t want you to turn me into a bear again.” 

Bossuet turned around ready to lobby the attack. “If I knew how I did it, I would. Maybe that would help this exponentially fucked up situation.”

“It most certainly would not,” Grantaire huffed, pulling the hoodie around him tighter as he made a beeline for the coffee. Feuilly reached up into the cabinet and took down a mug for him. The pair shared a look in which they both realized Grantaire was currently taller than Feuilly but were both quick to ignore it. Sometimes it was best to believe in the natural order of things, even when that wasn’t currently the case. 

“Thank you.” Grantaire took the mug and wasted no time in pouring coffee in and drinking two sips scalding hot and bitter. He made a face and then went to dig out creamer. 

“You didn’t really turn him into a bear.” Feuilly’s voice was a stage whisper, like he didn’t want to summon the magic from the floorboards or their sketchy neighbor upstairs, sipping his own mug of something that wasn’t coffee. Grantaire was going for whatever that was next. 

“Yes he did,” Joly sighed, emerging from the bathroom with a towel around his head. “I have a scrapbook of all our magical mishaps. Oh! I have to add this to it.” 

“This wasn’t a mishap, this was an attack.” 

“If you want to hear about an attack, you’ll have to hear what Courfeyrac did the other day,” Grantaire said just to steer the conversation in a different direction. 

“Oh no,” Musichetta gasped. 

“Oh yeah,” Grantaire told his coffee. 

“Poor Courfeyrac,” Bossuet said and it might have sounded sincere if he wasn’t laughing. “I knew he must have said something but was it really that bad?” 

“He screamed I love you to my face after rambling on about friendship for ten minutes. I felt like I had mono again trying to understand the plot of Kingdom Hearts.”

“Speaking of that—remind me to show you a new spell I’ve been working on,” Musichetta held out her hand, looking immensely proud of herself. “I tried to tell you before but I guess I frightened Combeferre because he bolted before I could show, well him.” 

“Combeferre better appreciate the fact Courfeyrac and I worked on calming him down so he doesn’t have to have Courfeyrac freak out and scream that he loves him in his face.” 

“I don’t know, that might do it for him.” Feuilly swirled his drink around and didn’t look up. 

“Well I certainly did not need that this morning.” Grantaire tipped back his coffee and drank several large gulps.

“This is so weird.” Bossuset laughed. 

Sitting down on one of the stools, Grantaire drummed his fingers on the breakfast bar. “I hit my head on the shower curtain rod last night. I hate being tall.” 

“Oh yeah, that’s so weird,” Joly chirped. “Can you get the cake tins down before you switch back? Just for fun and I’ll bake you a cake for your trouble.” Grantaire did as requested and his asshole friends applauded. Grantaire took his coffee back into his room to get dressed into some of Combeferre’s clothes. He put his hoodie back on though, he was not being parted from it for at least a week at this rate. 

“So, did Enjolras watch the livestream the entire time?” Feuilly asked the moment he walked back into the kitchen, trying to ignore how weird it was that he was a little grossed out from using his own toothbrush to brush his teeth. He knew some of his friends borrowed it despite his complaints so it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to it...but whatever there were bigger concerns than his toothbrush. 

Grantaire nodded and his exceedingly lovely friends all laughed. “Except for when Combeferre showed up. Then he quickly turned it off and yelled at me when I said what were the odds anything freaky was going to show up.” 

“He cares about you,” Musichetta pouted, humming the words under her breath. 

Grantaire couldn’t get the smile off his lips in time. “Yeah, I know.”

Joly, of course, noticed and frowned. “What else aren’t you telling us?” 

“Nothing.”

Feuilly gasped, “Wait—I know what he’s not telling you. A ghost shark showed up on the livestream. Enjolras called me.” 

Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta all collectively lost their minds, “Were you there?” 

Now that Feuilly mentioned it, he remembered that happening. He hadn’t even looked at the screen before grabbing Combeferre’s laptop and running. “I was already freaking out so much I didn’t even notice.” 

Bossuet straightened his back and then leaned away from him, narrowing his eyes like he could see though his bullshit (Grantaire was pretty sure he could), “Can you use Combeferre’s magic?”

“Yes.” Grantaire said and everyone immediately turned to look at him. 

Bossuet’s eyes went wide and he leaned his elbows on the counter as he leaned forward, “That’s like, _impossibly_ good magic.” 

“Well, yeah, I was like, _impossibly_ freaked out.” Grantaire muttered and looked away from all of them. Was it too late to hide in his room for a while longer before everyone else showed up?

“Well, now you have to tell us what the fuck happened,” Joly crossed his arms and Musichetta echoed the motion. 

“Nope. I don’t.” Grantaire started heading towards his room. 

Feuilly frowned and shuffled his cards. He looked up and then the front door was pushed open. “Morning! We bought xuixos! Enjolras knows they’re your favorite, Grantaire, so he made sure we stopped to get some on our way here!” Courfeyrac smiled wildly, clearly a dig at Enjolras who ignored him. 

“You wanted to keep this secret, so you told Courfeyrac?” Feuilly asked, stirring his coffee with a lazy swirl of his finger. Grantaire was absolutely not trying that lest he accidentally summon a coffee whirlpool. 

“I kept quiet.” Courfeyrac put the xuixos on the table and scrunched up his nose. 

“What did you say to R thinking he was Combeferre?” Bahorel caught the door as it swung shut and held it open for Prouvaire who made a beeline for Feuilly’s coffee. Feuilly relinquished it without batting an eye because his younger brother could get away with absolutely anything. Grantaire caught Joly’s eye and they raised their eyebrows at the pair of them arriving together. 

Prouvaire sipped the coffee and then grimaced, “oh, yuck.”

“I said nothing!” Courfeyrac spun around to glare at him but Bahorel only smirked and shook his head. Combeferre looked over to them, curious, but Enjolras tugged him into the common room. 

“He has such blackmail over you.” Bahorel laughed and Prouvaire went to pour his own coffee. 

“We know what he said to him,” Joly all but purred and Courfeyrac gasped and turned to Grantaire. 

“You _didn’t_.” 

Prouvaire sipped at his coffee while raising his eyebrows and looking between the two of them. Grantaire was kinda pissed he wasn’t an outsider in this because the sight of Combeferre and Courfeyrac acting like this was probably hilarious. 

Grantaire only shrugged. Courfeyrac reached out to grab three pillows at once with his magic and he threw all three of them at Grantaire.

Grantaire froze them midair so they didn’t decimate the coffee cups littering their table. Everyone wore various expressions of impressed and incredulous and Enjolras waved them out of the air and back to the couch, which was great because Grantaire had no idea how to move them. 

“Combeferre told me you blew up your tea so do you really want to be chancing using magic?” Enjolras asked him. 

It was nice that he was talking to him so of course Grantaire had to smile cheekily, “I want to see what all the fuss is about. Plus you’re here to make sure nothing else explodes.” 

Enjolras rolled his eyes but Grantaire saw his smile before he turned away. 

“I put some candles out already,” Musichetta spoke casually, but she was starting to round them all back together so they could get started. She went into the common room and Prouvaire followed. One of her greatest weaknesses was overpriced three wick candles. There were just so many different varieties that she couldn’t stop herself. Sometimes she used them in spell work when the scents aligned with what she was doing. There was a yellow colored ginger and peppermint three wick already burning on the kitchen table, it was stacked on top of some spell books. The other candles burning around the kitchen and common area were unscented in an array of white, brown and yellow for healing, stability and communication. One of the first spells Bossuet had been taught was a fire containment spell so their apartment always had a warm glow. 

“Can you help me in here?” Musichetta asked and Grantaire turned back to his coffee as Joly and the others went to help her gather their supplies. Courfeyrac had brought a suspiciously full bag. Feuilly was shuffling his tarot cards still, trying to figure out the secret to the universe in the unconscious movement or whatever it was he thought about when he was messing with the deck. 

Feuilly looked up at Grantaire and Grantaire shrugged. He smiled and cut the deck into three piles. Grantaire tapped the one closest to Feuilly and he put the deck back together with that pile on top, “Okay, let’s go about this rationally, okay? Open mind.” 

Grantaire looked up at him and leaned his elbows on the bar. He looked to Feuilly and Feuilly looked back. Once Feuilly was satisfied there was nothing of importance going on between Combeferre’s ears, he flipped the first card. “The nature.” 

He flipped over the ten of coins and together they stared at it in silence for a moment. Too much wealth? 

“I think it’s saying you have all you need to save the world,” Feuilly teased, picking up his mug and taking a sip of his coffee. 

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Saving the world requires me to be inside Combeferre?”

Feuilly nearly choked on his coffee but managed to swallow the mouthful at the last second and only cough a little bit. Grantaire bit his lip to hide his smirk but he never felt bad for making Feuilly laugh. Feuilly took another sip to clear his throat before speaking again. “I think whoever put the spell on you has peaked. They have everything they need and they’re searching for more. They are using you to change the world for the future?”

Grantaire grimaced and ground his teeth. “I don’t know if I like that since they did it because of the election.”

“Well you’re in the middle of it and it didn’t affect the election results. Next card, the cause.” he flipped the next card over with a delicate showmanship he learned from the Parisian streets that raised him. “Six of coins. Okay, so this card is all about being generous with your experiences and literally that’s the curse. You need to be more open with what you’ve gone through.”

“Combeferre is going to the museum without pay. So there’s some charity. I think your deck is busted because I barely have enough money to put towards groceries after rent so I don’t like how it’s alluding to the fact for a second time I’m financially stable.”

“There’s more than one way to read a card,” Feuilly sighed as he decided to take another chance with the coffee and picked the cup up again. He tapped his finger on the side of the cup and frowned down at the cards. “I think the person who did this is wealthy.”

“Yeah, it’s always some rich guy fucking everything up.” Grantaire agreed.

Feuilly smiled and it took Grantaire a second to realize it wasn’t because of what he said. “By the way, you and Enjolras and Courfeyrac and Combeferre seem like you’re all getting your—“

Enjolras walked into the kitchen, laughing with Combeferre. He rummaged around in the cabinets and he turned to Grantaire, frowning. “Do you have rosemary in here?”

“Don’t you dare finish that thought,” Grantaire hissed to Feuilly who put his hands up innocently. Grantaire shot him a glare anyway before he pointed to the second shelf. “Of course we have rosemary, who do you think we are? It should be in the spice basket with the basil and thyme.” 

Combeferre had to stand on his toes but he pulled the basket down and Enjolras plucked the jar out and went into the common room. With a frustrated frown, Combeferre stretched to put the basket back up and followed after Enjolras with a sharp, “Not a word,” to the pair of them. 

Feuilly just sipped his coffee, eyebrows raised and shrugged a little. He put the mug down and ignored the commotion at the door—Marius and Cosette had arrived with more textbooks. Maybe they were planning on beating them with it until their souls fled back to their proper bodies. “Last card and then you can run—the solution.”

“Please let it be an easy one.” 

Feuilly made a small noncommittal noise and flipped to reveal the nine of wands. 

Grantaire frowned down at it. “I don’t know what that means.” 

“You have to tell Enjolras how you feel.” Feuilly told him immediately and if it weren’t for the fact Grantaire knew Feuilly wouldn’t force a reading, he would be convinced this was all an elaborate ploy to get his defenses down and attack. 

“Not in Combeferre’s body I don’t.” Grantaire whispered after a quick glance over his shoulder to confirm Enjolras wasn’t within eavesdropping distance. 

Feuilly leaned forward and whispered back, “You’re almost there. You just have to push through and—“

“Grantaire—can you please tell Courfeyrac why we don’t use fresh rosemary herbs in a salve,” Joly called as Courfeyrac and Bossuet argued. 

“Reading’s over.” Grantaire got up and went into the common area, leaving a smirking Feuilly to shuffle his cards by himself. “There’s too much moisture in the leaves, you have to use dry or no matter what you do the salve will be too runny.” 

“That’s not how it works.” Courfeyrac frowned, looking at Joly who was their resident potions expert. 

Grantaire shrugged, “I think it interacts with someone’s magic because every time we try to use it, it ruins it.” 

“Some days I don’t know why more people aren’t interested in us.” Prouvaire frowned, looking up from the book he and Marius were translating. Well, Marius was translating, Prouvaire was sort of doodling diagrams and what looked like a wine glass. “Between the Mercommunity’s obsession with Bossuet and—“

“Please don’t finish that sentence.” Bossuet frowed and Prouvaire smiled sheepishly. “We try to keep a low profile for a reason.” 

“Éponine sends her love but she said she wasn’t fucking dealing with this today.” Cosette told Grantaire, looking up from where she was already hard at work writing notes. “Personally I think she’s looking into some of Bamatabois’ supporters.” 

“Ugh, it would be one of that slimebucket’s lackeys.” Joly scowled, scooting closer to Grantaire like he could protect him from everything. “And just like him, they were ultimately useless.”

Grantaire caught sight of the doodled wine glass again. “Who else wants a glass of morning wine with me?” Ariadne was Dionysus’ wife so he was going to get wine drunk. 

“Oh, me!” Cosette hopped up from where she was writing something out—a small spell from the looks of it although the majority of it was crossed out. Grantaire got them both wine and Cosette led him back into the common room before he could pull out a chair at the table. She sat him down on the couch and used his leg to prop one of her books up. 

Joly leaned on Grantaire, wrapping an arm around his neck and stifled a yawn. 

Cosette smiled. “You can go lay down and take a nap for a bit if you want, we’ll come get you when we need you.” 

“You need me now, I just need to recharge my batteries.” Joly tugged at the ouija board throw blanket until he was wrapped in a little cocoon. 

“By clinging all over me?” Grantaire said with a half-smile on his face. 

“How do you think this friendship works?” Joly murmured into his shoulder. 

Grantaire laughed and offered him some of his wine. Joly took a sip. “Mull it.”

“Mull it?” Grantaire echoed but Joly was already dragging him and Cosette over to the stove. 

Without fanfare or hesitation, Joly grabbed the cup from Grantaire’s hand and poured it and the rest of the bottle into a pot on the stove. Cosette handed him a jar of honey and he liberally poured some in. 

Grantaire frowned pointedly at the glass Cosette was allowed to keep but she darted off towards the common room window before he could seduce her away from her cup. People were always fawning over Combeferre, he hadn’t taken enough advantage of their situation. He could probably flirt his way to free croissants every single day if he varied his cafes. Oh, they still had xuixos. Grantaire grabbed a pastry from the bag and took a bite. 

Joly threw open the refrigerator door and a piece of ginger came flying at Grantaire immediately. He started to duck and then realized Joly was lobbing it at him. He caught it and broke a chunk off and tossed it back to Joly as he dug a knife out to peel and chop it. The root hung in the air behind Joly’s head for a moment before he flicked his fingers and it nestled itself back into the drawer. Joly grabbed a stalk of lemongrass that they probably bought to make coconut soup. 

At the look on Grantaire’s face Joly rolled his eyes. “We have more, calm the fuck down.” 

“Here!” Cosette smiled, and rinsed a cut of aloe and some green herb off in the sink. She tossed the herb at Grantaire to cut up along with the lemongrass and ginger and squeezed the aloe into the wine. Joly stirred it and Grantaire kept his eyes on the blade in his hand and the fingers on the other. He was confident in the kitchen, but only when he was using his own hands. The last thing he wanted to do was add some of Combeferre’s blood into the wine—who knew how the spell would interpret that.

Grantaiaire dumped the lemongrass, ginger and the herb—mint, and now he sort of wanted a mojito—into the pot and turned away. Joly whispered a spell over it and then frowned at Grantaire. 

“What?” Grantaire asked, grabbing a spatula to stir the wine-potion.

“Can you stew some blackberries for me?”

“If we have them?”

“Yes?” Joly asked, questioning his question. 

Grantaire leaned against the counter and looked down at Joly, “I’ve been at Combeferre’s the past four days, don’t give me that attitude.” 

“Oh fuck I forgot,” Joly frowned pointedly, and Grantaire and Cosette went about stewing him his blackberries, if only to get the look off his face. 

“Here, let me—“ Combeferre began from the common room and then swore darky behind them. Grantaire looked at him from over his shoulder. Bahorel’s eyes were wide and Enjolras grabbed his hand, twisting his arm around so that he could see the inside of his wrists. 

Even from across the room, Grantaire could make out trailing black veins along his skin. 

“Um, what the fuck?” Bahorel blurted out, abandoning whatever he was concocting on the floor to stand and bodily guide him to the couch. 

“I feel fine—except for maybe a slight burning but it’s barely noticeable.” Combeferre looked at his arm like a science experiment but Grantaire was frozen in his spot by the stove. If his body was finally crapping out—he wasn’t going to let it take Combeferre out with it. 

Twisting around, he grabbed the pot of stewed blackberries with one hand and the strainer with the other and strained the berries over the wine. Cosette handed him the spatula to crush the berries and Joly ran over to where the others were gathering around Combeferre. 

“You’re not keeping that a secret are you?” Feuilly asked, coming to stand at Cosette’s side.

“I wish I was, honestly.” Grantaire almost didn’t recognize Combeferre’s voice through the terror. After Grantaire strained the berries away into just a pulpy mess, Feuilly took the utensils and tossed them into the sink. They clattered loudly but it didn’t draw any attention from their friends. He took the pot and poured it into the mugs Grantaire quickly snatched from the cabinet—he took them from the top shelf for the sheer novelty of it. 

Grantaire reached out for the mug and took a tentative sip. It was too hot to properly taste but that might be for the best. At least the aloe had dissolved. 

“Grantaire, get over here.” Bahorel called sharply. 

“He’s clean,” Feuilly called back but the collective glare dragged the pair of them over. Cosette turned away from them, focusing instead on the dishes in the sink. Grantaire had a moment to see her spin water in the air and then his friends were manhandling him. Combeferre took the wine and grimaced as he took a taste. 

Enjolras grabbed Grantaire’s arm and squinted at the skin, trying to see the faint traces of poison beneath his skin. Of course there would be no such thing, it was Grantaire’s body trying to finish him off, not Combeferre’s. 

“Maybe—” Grantaire began but couldn’t finish the through aloud. Maybe Combeferre’s magic was reaching out, trying to save Grantaire by putting Combeferre’s mind inside the sick body. Grantaire had been awake during the sleepless nights when Combeferre hovered next to Enjolras or Bahorel, whispering if he could only take their pain from them, he would. If it turned out that his magic somehow found a way to make that a reality when the curse struck their group, he was going to kill him himself. 

“Maybe what?” Enjolras asked, not looking up from where he was pressing his fingers to his skin, trying to see below the surface. 

“Nothing.”

Enjolras tilted his chin up to glare at him. It was a bold look for someone whose fingers were currently shaking against his skin.

“I have to go get some air,” Joly said quietly and ducked under Bahorel’s arm to grab his coat and slip out the door. If Grantaire wasn’t the focus of this whole hocus pocus circus, he’d follow him. A break was a great idea but everyone was too determined for that. 

He took another sip of the wine with his free hand and Combeferre echoed the motion. 

“You feel fine?” Combeferre asked, and his tone was normal for someone whose veins were twisting black beneath his skin. 

“I’m tired but other than that, great.” 

Combeferre took a bigger sip and glanced out the window. Fuck, he was going to make sure Combeferre survived this even if it killed him. 

“Get that look off your face,” Enjolras whispered and then let go of his wrist to go do something that was probably more productive. 

Not to be a total love-struck moron, but Grantaire immediately felt worse with Enjolras’ back to him. 

Prouvaire dug around in the cabinet for a moment as Bossuet went through their spell cabinet. Joly and Musichetta were great at keeping it stocked because they never knew what kind of trouble was about to discover their boyfriend. 

Bossuet tossed a bowl over his shoulder and Courfeyrac only just caught it. He grumbled about it, even more so as Bossuet started to laugh as he stood with dried pine needles and the assorted citrus peels Grantaire had dried over the last holiday. They had candied the rest and, honestly, they were lucky they had even dried any—Grantaire had wanted to candy them all. 

Bossuet dumped a couple pine needles and dried peels in it as Prouvaire magicked rosemary, basil and mint over to them. 

Grantaire didn’t have magic but he was an excellent potions assistant. He added healthy pinches of all three herbs and then Prouvaire leaned on his shoulder. “Alright Hephaestus, light it up.” 

Grantaire twisted his lips into a frown and then looked up, oh right, he had Combeferre’s magic in his veins. “I will literally burn this entire place down.”

Prouvaire laughed, “No you won’t. I’ll help guide you. Just a little spark to burn.” 

“So you obviously weren’t there when I had Courfeyrac and Combeferre stuck in the air for twenty minutes.” Grantaire argued. 

“Oh for the love of—” Prouvaire took Grantaire’s hands and looked him in the eye. He held his hands out over the bowl. “Picture an ember, a tiny little spark from a candle whose wick you didn’t trim, dark orange and quick to stomp out.”

Grantaire frowned, Prouvaire glared and then Grantaire looked down at the herbs. He thought of the tiny orange spark flying through the air, falling harmlessly into the bowl. The room stilled and then suddenly, the herbs were burning. 

“Okay who did that.” Grantaire frowned, looking at the crowd who were starting to look delighted. 

“You did,” Combeferre laughed. “I never thought I’d see the day. Everything else you did was nothing, it was reflexive but that was real magic. ” 

“I should send you into the air again.” Grantaire muttered, ignoring the heat flooding his cheeks. When he was younger he was desperate for magic just to prove he was normal like everyone else. Now, it was a relief to feel completely unimpressed with his feat of small magic. From the bottom of his soul, he didn’t care if he could do magic or not. He was, of course, proud he didn’t set the flat on fire but he wasn’t going to miss this once he was back inside his magicless body. 

Combeferre came to sit next to him and, holy fuck those black veins looked terrible. It looked like his blood was running black, you could see it in his neck and faintly in his face. “So what did it feel like?” 

“Nothing. Honestly. I still think one of you did it.” 

“Well we didn’t, you started that fire on your own.” Combeferre smiled and pat his knee. 

“Please call my mother so she can hear how pleased you are saying that.” 

Combeferre laughed and quizzed him a little more as their friends ground the ashes of the herbs up, mixing them with honey to form a thick paste. 

“We’re going to paint the Northern Crown onto your foreheads.” Cosette smiled and if their solution was to finger paint, maybe he’d be stuck inside Combeferre’s body for a little longer. 

Grantaire squinted at the crude connect the dots drawing, Cosette held up to demonstrate her point, “Is that Ariadne’s diadem?”

“Are you telling us there’s something from Greek mythology that you don’t know off the top of your head?” Bahorel paused what he was doing to look up at him. 

“I don’t—”

“When I first met you I thought that’s how your magic manifested itself, in an encyclopedic working knowledge of greek mythology.”

“I thought I was witnessing the last moments of an old god,” Courfeyrac confessed in a tone Grantaire had never heard from him before. They had spoken about their first meeting before, but maybe not as sincerely as they needed. He added, _check to make sure he hadn’t fucked Courfeyrac up_ , to the list of things he needed to do once he was back in his proper body. Maybe he should write it down in case things went south so Joly and Bossuet had something to go off of when they eventually tried to clean up his messes. 

“Always wanted to rock an ash and honey crown.” He said to lighten the mood. 

“Grantaire, you’re the artist,” Musichetta glanced up to him before digging around in her purse for a spare eyeliner brush. She was constantly losing the tiny brushes so it was almost guaranteed that there was one nearby when you needed it. She handed the brush to Grantaire triumphantly when she found one. It was a little covered in crumbs but he brushed it off with a raised eyebrow. 

“Well, I obviously no longer use that one.” she whispered with an embarrassed twist of her lips.

Grantaire thought about painting his own face and froze, the longer this went on the more uncomfortable he was getting with it. 

“I’ll do it,” Enjolras said, taking the bowl and sticking his finger into it. He pressed his finger to Grantaire’s skin seven times in the shape of the constellation. Then he took Musichetta’s eyeliner brush and painted lines connecting them. Grantaire watched Enjolras as he pointedly ignored him and pretended to focus on the paint. After he was done, he immediately turned to Combeferre. Grantaire tried not to be offended about how Enjolras’ shoulder slumped in relief as he turned away but he was largely unsuccessful. He couldn’t dwell on it, not until he and Enjolras could talk and get on the same page. If he started making assumptions now, they’d end up in wildly different books. 

“So I don't want to be dramatic but something about this is familiar,” Grantaire said, frowning. As far as he knew this was a unique situation, but there was a nagging that he remembered this. Maybe it was the salve on his forehead or Enjolras not talking to him?

“What’s familiar about peacing out of your body just before the dark magic laced under your skin tries to kill you?” Courfeyrac hissed. He was not taking the dark magic thing well at all and Grantaire liked to think he’d be just as upset if it wasn’t Combeferre who was currently trapped in that body. 

The door rattled violently and then slammed on its hinges. 

“Prouvaire, I swear if that’s a poorly timed vengeful spirit looking for your assistance—” Bossuet hissed and Prouvaire looked up, eyes wide, a guilty frown on his face. The spirits of the restless dead did have the worst timing, as demonstrated by his disastrous love life. You know, Bahorel _was_ unsubtly making himself a spirit repellant. He currently had a small greenhouse of garlic and sage on his balcony and had half dead pots of rosemary, thyme and oregano growing on every windowsill. 

The pounding on the door continued, great, angry fist falls that echoed, this time accompanied by a voice that probably should have been expected. “Gaëtan! I know you’re in there! Open this door—!”

Grantaire gasped but only got halfway out of the chair before Bossuet bounded over the back of the couch and wrenched open the door. 

“Where is he! Something’s wrong.” There wasn’t a spirit at the door, only a vengeful sister—which might actually be worse. Her short dark hair was frizzy and falling loose from the clips keeping it from her face.

“Sit down, this is going to be a shock,” Feuilly said, taking charge since no one else apparently knew what to do with the 5’3 of pure anger suddenly in their midst. She was wearing short jean overalls that Grantaire was pretty sure belonged to their mother in the nineties and golden yellow tights. The sweater she was wearing under her overalls looked like it was one of Joly’s uni ones. She had a habit of wearing other people’s clothes when she was upset. But she was almost always upset about something—who wasn’t?

Léonie put her hand on his and frowned as she looked around the room for something she couldn’t find. For a second, Grantaire thought she had somehow picked up that he wasn’t in his right body. 

“Where’s Adrien?” She asked, her voice was strained and they really didn’t need another problem on their plate. 

“He’s taking a nap, I’ll go wake him up,” Bossuet said and something cold started climbing up Grantaire’s arms. 

“He’s not here?” Enjolras frowned, glancing to the bedrooms. No one had been down that hall in a while. 

“Where is he then?” Léonie asked as if this was confirming the reason she had tried to break the front door in two. 

Bossuet’s glass dropped from his fingers as he looked to Grantaire. “He went lay down didn’t he?”

“I don’t know. I thought—” Grantaire began and Bahorel got up to check the bedrooms. He returned a moment later and just shook his head. 

“When the stars rain red and the people rise, despite appearances it’s not with you danger lies.” Léonie said suddenly looking to Combeferre, who paled. Prouvaire recoiled as if she was prophesying. But she wasn’t—Grantaire knew how it went. Her words unraveled what had been nagging at him.

“They will take him in the light while you’re waging another fight—“ He continued, feeling his limbs start to go cold. 

Léonie turned, eyes wide but more concerned with things other than body-swapped brothers with fingerpainted stars on their foreheads. “There was something about revenge—and—and something.” 

“Where is he?” Grantaire asked, the words had lodged a crippling panic inside him. Joly had been his best friend for decades. He knew just what to say, just what to do, he laughed at everything. 

“Not here.” Bahorel said as if that wasn’t obvious. 

“No—I mean—Courfeyrac, where is he?” 

Courfeyrac gasped and shot to his feet. He was the eldest of eleven sisters. He knew how to scry locations better than anyone. Léonie was on his heels as he raced into the kitchen. “Here, I’ll help!”

“Did someone look outside? I think I remember him going outside.” Feuilly opened the front door and vanished without bothering to put his shoes on. Musichetta followed him a moment later with flip flops on. 

Bossuet was on his phone, Grantaire could see him on the Find My Phone app. Bossuet’s fingers were shaking and his eyes started to well up with frustrated tears but before Grantaire could go help him, Léonie was back with one of their popcorn buckets filled with water. She placed it in the middle of the room and Courfeyrac was at her side instantly. 

She looked up to Grantaire. “I woke up with these words echoing in my head. I looked outside and saw the meteor shower—”

“That just means they had a high oxygen or nitrogen content—” Combeferre argued but Grantaire knew him well enough to tell that Combeferre was grasping at straws. He hadn’t even known there was a meteor shower last night? You know what, it didn’t matter. 

Léonie shook her head, “I couldn’t fall back asleep but it didn’t dawn on me what it meant until just now.” His sister excelled at a lot of things but the most alarming was her tendency to multitask when she was doing magic. Courfeyrac had to all but cease to exist in the corporeal realm to scry but his sister—she was perfectly at ease to have a full blown argument over the scry bowl. 

“ _She_ knew this was going to happen.” Léonie said, her voice the only thing grounding him. “ _She_ saw them taking him and so she would have given us everything we needed to get him back in time.” 

“Not everything in our lives is because of the fortune woman. And—something terrible happened to her. Something took our memories of her. Of the night they found us in the storm.” 

Musichetta and Feuilly reappeared in the doorway alone. Musichetta went over to Bossuset who was still fighting with his phone. She ran her hand in circles over the small of his back and Feuilly sat near Courfeyrac and his sister.

Léonie sighed and looked up from the bow, first to Feuilly and then to himl, she kept her hands on Courfeyac’s arm to give him a magic boost. He was searching all of Paris and that took time and energy, “Something took her _and_ your magic, yes.” 

“I never—“ Grantaire felt the magic coursing through Combeferre’s veins and he has never felt something like this. 

“I will not argue with you. I’m tired of it and it won’t bring it back. She tried to prepare us for every disaster and nightmare in our lives.”

“Every one she could see you mean.”

“She saw this.” she hissed and the water began to glow. “It’s Adrien. She saw this.”

They had no memories of the night but Joly had forced his parents to bring him over so he could yell at them through his stuffy nose. He made them swear to not go on adventures without him. He and the girls were sick in bed so they were grounded. 

“Maybe he just went out to get cider?” Prouvaire offered, braiding tiny braids into his hair. 

Bahorel shook his head and pushed himself back to his feet so he could pace, “He left too long ago to just be picking up more cider.” 

“Maybe he went to a cafe and he is drinking enough cider for all of us?” Courfeyrac piped up, trying to look hopeful but falling woefully short. He didn’t take his eyes away from the water and he squinted trying to piece together whatever snippets were floating around in their popcorn bowl. 

Léonie ignored the halfhearted rationality, “I don’t know what the phoenixshit is going on here, by the way. I don’t have time to deal with it, I just want it registered that I hate it. When you told me my brother fucked up again, I wasn’t expecting this.” 

Enjolras shrugged and Grantaire just ignored that the two of them were texting. He could worry about it when he had Joly next to him again.

“Tell me about it,” Courfeyrac sighed, looking directly at Combeferre for a second. Grantaire took a deep breath and tried to calm the racing heart in his chest. 

Joly and Grantaire had once gotten so angry at each other, they got into the six year old equivalent of a fist fight that left Joly’s two front teeth and one of Grantaire’s bottom teeth on the sidewalk. They both screamed right where they lay and refused to let go of each other for three solid days. Their parents had shuffled them back and forth, breakfast at Grantaire’s, dinner at Joly’s. Joly had burst through the door screaming, “Holy shit I just met my husband,” sporting a momentous black eye and bloody nose. “And you’re coming with me to this meeting tonight to meet him.” Five years later Joly burst through the door screaming, “Holy fuck i just met my wife,” wearing a flower crown and pair of Prouvaire’s pants hiked up high and rolled up around his ankles. 

Bossuet let out a tiny cry of triumph. “His phone’s outside. He’s fine. He’s probably reading.” He didn’t wait for anyone to speak, he turned and ran out the front door. Musichetta’s face went ashen but Grantaire followed after him, racing down the steps like everything in the world would be okay if only he could make it down every step at once. 

“Babe?” Bossuet called, spinning out onto the sidewalk.

For a moment Grantaire let himself believe that they were all being silly and overdramatic, that Joly was going to be standing there looking up from his phone like they were absolute fools. 

But if Joly hadn’t been out here a moment ago, why should he suddenly appear now? 

Bossuet didn’t speak, he looked around and then suddenly dropped—

Grantaire ran towards him but he was only picking something up. He turned, Joly’s phone in his outstretched hand. Grantaire walked up close, one hand on Bossuet’s shoulder. He had Combeferre’s magic, he could defend the pair of them. Spinning around, he looked up and down the street, into the shop and cafe windows but there was nothing suspicious at all. It was another day in Paris like their world wasn’t hanging by a thread. 

“He’s not here. Someone took him,” Bossuet whispered. There was a strength in his voice that convinced Grantaire that this was only temporary. Joly was missing now, but they’d find him—and soon. Wordlessly, they ran back up the stairs. Cosette had tears in her eyes but Musichetta was lacing her shoes. They whispered to each other, sporting the same determined frown. Cosette had her phone out and Grantaire could see she was texting someone, probably Éponine. 

Grantaire grabbed shoes and tossed Bossuet his coat. 

“Any luck?” He asked the huddled forms of Courfeyrac and Léonie and he pulled his coat on. 

“Not yet,” Courfeyrac hissed through gritted teeth. 

Grantaire had his phone in his pocket and he turned to go back out the door. Someone must have seen something. 

“What are you going to do? Just run out on the street and hope you see something?” Bahorel asked like he wasn’t lacing his own boots up. 

“Joly is my best friend—” Grantaire hissed, half way out the door. 

Combeferre was on his heels, the black veins were still prominent but that could wait.“We can’t play it safe. Not with this. We don’t know who took him, we don’t know what they’re capable of.”

“And what if something happens to the pair of you.” Enjolras pushed between them into the doorway to prevent their escape.

Courfeyrac looked up from his scry bowl. “The corner of Quai de la Loire and Rue de la Moselle.” 

Enjolras turned and ran out the door. 

“Oh what a hypocrite,” Grantaire growled, running after him. His friends were all shouting behind him but what if Joly didn’t have the time for plans. What if his time was already running out. If they had no problems swapping Combeferre and Grantaire—

Grantaire’s leg ached and he ignored it. 

* * *

They stood in the middle of the intersection, strikingly suspicious. Feuilly and Bossuet were atop the steps that led to the walking bridge. Courfeyrac had vanished to look for boats on the water. Prouvaire was searching the park. Cosette, Marius, and Léonie had gone to Éponine. She might be able to help track down who was targeting them. If she had already been thinking of Bamatabois, she could already be leagues ahead of them. The rest of them stood in the middle of the street, doing nothing but drawing attention to themselves. Grantaire turned and looked up at the apartments. There was no movement in any of the windows which was probably normal, it was half past one on a Wednesday afternoon in November, but it did seem quiet here, like there was a background hum that had been silenced. 

“R?” Cosette asked from his phone, he had them on speaker because otherwise his sister would have called the police and they didn’t have time for paperwork. Leonine was watching Joly’s location as well, to try to help narrow down where he was. 

“Nothing yet.” He headed down the street until he found the door to the apartments. He went to turn to call for Bossuet but he was standing next to him. If he hadn’t been so out of his mind with worry, he would comment on how strange it was to have to look down to meet Bossuet’s eyes. Bossuet only nodded and then he made a couple quick hand motions and the door swung open for them. 

“Which one were you thinking?” 

“I wasn’t. They’re all dark. I don’t know where—” 

In the middle of the courtyard, he spun around and looked up. There was movement in one of the apartments, a curtain opening and then quickly shutting. The pair was off immediately. Someone was following them but they didn’t stop to see if it was friend or foe. Neither of them cared. Absolutely nothing was getting between them and that apartment because if Joly was inside they were going to rescue him and if he wasn’t they were going to break into every last apartment until they did. 

“Leonie…”

“He’s still there, he hasn’t moved. I think you're close but—be careful.” Her voice was tinny and distant through the phone. 

“I’m here.” Éponine’s voice was barely audible over the phone and they all started talking at once. Grantaire muted the line again and put his phone into his pocket. 

The possibility of terrifying some innocent person was very high but Joly was here, somewhere, and they were going to find him. Bossuet unlocked the door in front of him with a couple complicated hand motions and a spell that was illegal on every continent but Antartica. They ran up the stairs, pausing on each landing but Grantaire kept pulling him higher. He was following his—or maybe Combeferre’s—intuition that said that Joly was higher. 

Someone hissed his name from below them on the stairs but neither so much as paused. Finally they reached the top of the next set of stairs and Grantaire pulled Bossuet to a stop. 

They glanced at each other and then headed down the hall. There were several doors to various flats but they crept past them all blindly. Bossuet put his hand on Grantaire’s arm to make sure he was close, that they were on the same page, that they were going to do this together. 

A thump sounded from behind the door next to them and there was a cut off cry that was unmistakably their best friend. Bossuet started to lift his hands but whoever was inside beat him to it.

The door flew off its hinges on it’s own. Grantaire grabbed Bossuet, pulled him out of the way of the splintering wood. 

Musichetta rushed past them to be the first in the room followed by Bahorel and Combeferre. 

“Get away from him this second,” Musichetta shouted and the pair of them were back on their feet. 

The first thing Grantaire saw was Joly with his hands tied behind his back, gazing up at Musichetta with unfiltered adoration.

That was probably why he let his guard down and Bossuet rushed out of his grasp towards his boyfriend. 

Enjolras and Prouvaire flanked him. As the only one normally without magic, it was second nature for the others to make sure he was neve alone in a magic fight. 

Not that this happened often but it happened enough, especially when Bahorel was in a riotous mood at the bar. 

“Combeferre—“ Grantaire said to Enjolras and the other man seemed to come to the same realization because he ran off to pull Combeferre back. 

Combeferre took a tumbling step back but not fast enough to stop the dagger from reaching him. He didn’t see where it came from, there were five people in the room, four men and a woman and the bald one wearing some sort of mask had rushed at him. 

Grantaire screamed, the dagger sliced through his own bicep across the room and Grantaire screamed along with Combeferre. 

They knocked Enjolras away, grabbed Combeferre by the jacket collar and punched him in the face. Grantaire recoiled. 

“What was that?” Prouvaire asked, throwing his arms around him in case he fell. 

“The spell,” Grantaire whispered, near mute with shock. Enjolras was back on his feet, knocking the man with the mask down with one slice of his hand. 

“Oh for the love of—“ Prouvaire swore, his fingers digging into his arms, into the spot that burned like he had been stabbed. He threw out an arm but then he was ripped away. Grantaire caught himself before he smashed his head into the ground and he scrambled to put Combeferre’s glasses back on his face. He turned looking for something—anything—to defend himself with. His fingers landed on the tarp and he pulled it off of the window trim. He grabbed a piece and wielded it like a sword out in front of him. It struck someone—a man with the scar above his eye and shattered. He pulled back and then plunged the broken side into his shoulder. The man screamed, hands glowing and Grantaire felt himself being pulled backwards. 

He slammed into something and then hit the floor. His head spun, he couldn’t tell what direction the crashes were coming from and then his entire body caught fire.

“No get back here!” Bahorel shouted from somewhere in the distance and then something collided with his--or maybe Combeferre’s--shoulder.

This wasn’t any of the things they were prepared for. This was unfiltered anger, this was someone not getting something they wanted and taking their frustrations out in blood. A potentially deadly temper-tantrum. This was democracy being murdered—fuck—if he didn’t make it he was going to be the victim of a political crime. Fuck that. He was not going to be a name in that article. Neither was Combeferre. They were not born for this fate.

Prouvaire’s voice was suddenly near and far at once, “look at his eyes—let me try something—”

The fortune woman— _Babica_ —had told him it was not his fate to be another passive casualty. His stomach felt like it was on fire, his head pounded and he had to forcibly breathe deeper to get any air at all into his lungs. 

“No—hey—stay with me—don’t—”

Grantaire blinked the dark away. Enjolras was inches from his face, his eyes were wide and—really dark brown. 

Babica had said—she had been shouting. He was a fool—do no touch—consequences—

Wrong footsteps—wrong soil—wrong lunar position.

Grantaire’s leg burned where it had been broken, he had slipped off the roof of the Louvre and it had snapped. 

No. 

Someone was calling Combeferre’s name. Some was tugging on Enjolras, there were wet drops on his face and then a cold, wet touch on his arm. He couldn’t move his arms. 

He kicked his legs—he thought they were moving but was he just imagining it? 

Enjolras’ expression was something Greek—Nisus flinging himself from the woods towards the sword at Euryalus’ throat. The hopeless fight—the stricken revenge. But Enjolras wouldn’t abandon the future like that. Heracles left Hylas to the nymphs. Agamemnon built a shine and moved on from Argynnus’ grave. Dionysus turned Ampelo’s body to grapevine and drank the wine-blood into tomorrow. 

Babica leaned over him. “Shut your eyes and sleep. I will protect you until morning.” 

* * *

Someone was screaming when Grantaire opened his eyes. 

_Fuck._

They weren’t out of this yet. His friends hadn’t saved the day over his unconscious body. They were all still in trouble. He was on his back on the uneven, unfinished hardwood floor—something was digging into his shoulder but the room swam above him. He blinked several times to clear his vision. Grantaire pushed himself up. His ears were ringing and his vision was blurry and he could only really lift one arm. He blinked again, trying to clear his sight, and looked around Enjolras was across the room with Combeferre on the ground in front of him.

Legit Combeferre. Like Combeferre’s body. 

Grantaire glanced down to himself and, Morgan, he never thought he’d be so relieved to see his legs. He lifted the arm that was cooperating and saw that his veins were no longer bold and black. 

Combeferre’s head was cradled in Enjolras’ lap and held him like he would shatter. The rest of the room was terrifyingly empty. A spark—lightning?—flashed outside and the sound of firecrackers sounded, not in the next room but definitely not farther away than the courtyard. Whoever was screaming—Grantaire could almost make out the words—was in another room—maybe a different flat. 

Enjolras looked up and away from Combeferre. His lip was trembling and his eyes awaited judgement when he met Grantaire’s gaze.

“He’s not waking up,” Enjolras whispered like the world was falling down around him. 

“He will,” Grantaire turned and squinted down the hall. “Where did everyone go?”

“After them. I can’t move my legs—I—” His breath caught in his throat like he was suffocating. It was probably killing him to be left behind, even if he had been guarding both of them. 

“Stay here. I’ll be back for you,” Grantaire said with much more bravado than he had. The room was still spinning and he was winded just sitting up. 

Enjolras looked up, he was panicking in the worst way but he was starting to come back to himself. Good. It did no good panicking now. They were in the thick of things and had to pull themselves together. Grantaire took a wheezing breath—that was probably fine—and started to push himself up. There was an empty pain in his leg, a tremble that gripped his spine. He got to his knees and sighed from the effort. Enjolras watched him with his lips pressed together and Grantaire had to look away. Either he or Combeferre was a little colorblind because the world was slightly off kilter. It was brighter somehow—oh maybe he was concussed? Had Combeferre hit his head? He couldn’t remember. He hadn’t seen Combeferre go down but evidently he had. 

He got himself to his feet and nearly collapsed. 

“Grantaire—” Enjolras gasped, taking a hand off of Combeferre to reach towards him. 

“I’m fine. Stay there. Hide if you can—” He clenched his jaw shut and pushed through the pain. 

“You’re hurt—” There was an angry edge to his voice and good. He should be angry. If he was angry he wouldn’t give up. Not that Enjolras was capable of it anyway. 

“I’ve got to take this chance.” Grantaire didn’t have magic but he did have a mean left hook. “I think Leonie is still on the phone if it hasn’t shattered.” 

Enjolras swore and dove for Combeferre’s pockets. Grantaire turned away pushed himself towards the doorway. 

The sounds of Leonine, Eponine, Cosette and Marius shouting filled the air. “Hey--R’s up, don’t know where the others are.”

“Enjolras!” Marius gasped and they all began talking to him at once. Grantaire couldn’t make out what they were saying but he couldn’t worry about that. He had to help the others. Grantaire caught himself on the door frame. Enjolras was watching him silently, Grantaire didn’t turn around to face his judgement because he knew he wouldn’t like the verdict. 

Drawing a deep breath, he stepped from the room. The hall was empty and he tried to ignore the way his hand left red smudges as he forced his body to continue moving. 

Despite feeling like roadkill, it was nice to be back in his body. He was going to be happy about this when he knew he wasn’t walking to his death. 

He was either going to pass out or somehow regain his strength. He was either going to see Enjolras again or not. 

Peering around the corner, his stomach lurched—there was a crowd in the flat—it looked like just his friends and the five or six people from before, Grantaire could see the bald man who had stabbed Combeferre—maskless now, but still bald--sprawled out on the floor. He looked around the room and he swore. 

His friends were on the defensive. 

Courfeyrac and Prouvaire were behind Bahorel, their hands moving fast as they tried to focus on something across the room. 

Feuilly was closest to him, a charred piece of wood in his hand. 

Joly and Bossuet were hurtling spells at a group of three who were deflecting them without much thought. The spells went flying back at them but each time they got a little bit closer. Musichetta wasn’t here and Grantaire didn’t know what that meant. 

There wasn’t really any way of knowing by just looking at them but Grantaire’s friends were no strangers to bleeding out on the sidewalk. Feuilly and Prouvaire had rescued themselves from a magical fight club when they were teenagers. Prouvaire was a kidnapped rich kid and Feuilly was a street orphan. Together they had filled out the adoption paperwork and their parents nearly missed the fact they were adopting another red headed troublemaker. The Prouvaires had been too preoccupied with nursing the boys back to health and turning an office into a new bedroom.

Bahorel frequently alluded to being an assassin in his misguided youth in Slovenia. 

Combeferre had a permanent limp from where his leg was crushed in a maybe-if-it-had-been-reported-correctly-riot, the same leg he had reinjured on the roof of the Louvre if that fever dream was to be believed. 

Enjolras had technically been assassinated twice but thankful it didn’t stick. Grantaire said assassinated but really an annoyed banker just swerved his car over him and broke his spine when he was still in lycee. A few years later a lawyer knocked him onto metro tracks when a train was coming. Assassinated made his survival seem less badass. He didn’t have healing powers, he was just really lucky.

Periodically sea-witches tried to kidnap Bossuet for reasons no one could figure but once they get their hands on him they realize he isn’t what they want. He fights back against the murderous ones and flirts with the more curious witches. Joly and Musichetta were great at keeping straight faces when pretending to third wheel their boyfriend. 

These angry, powerful, men were on the defensive and Grantaire was _not_ happy. 

He gathered up all the strength he had and then some he kept hidden within his bones. 

Joly swore darkly when he stepped into the room and Feuilly went to lunge at him but he was cut off as a spell went spiraling towards him. 

Bahorel cursed loudly at the sight of him. 

Talk about a roar of confidence. 

A spell hit him square in the chest but it was uncomfortable at best. It had been a blast of dark magic and it probably should have knocked him flat on his ass, “Huh. Guess I am used to dark magic after all.” 

Feuilly made a strangled noise in the back of his throat when he reached him and tugged Grantaire backwards. They both slammed into the wall and Grantaire shut his eyes. They had gotten through so much already, this was simply a pub-tale still in progress. 

“Don’t,” Feuilly hissed, “whatever you’re thinking—just don’t.”

“Over here jackass—” Bahorel called like this was indeed the beginning of another pub-tale. The man spun—oh it was the one with the scar over his eye, Grantaire got a little excited he knew him—and hurled a fireball at him. Bahorel caught the flames as he rushed towards him and then grabbed the man’s face. There was a disgusting sizzle and the man dropped. 

Courfeyrac swore and grabbed Bahorel’s hands to try to heal the burns, screaming while Bahorel managed to look impressed with himself through the pain. 

“No one’s watching us,” Grantaire whispered. 

“Don’t.” Feuilly warned back.

Prouvaire screamed, knees buckling and all but collapsed onto the floor. Feuilly let go of Grantaire and took a step away like he was going to rush through the fray to his brother. 

Screw this. Grantaire went in fists flying. 

There were two men who were keeping back so Grantaire went to them first. The thing about magical fights is that there was always someone trying to pull a string. The trick was to cut the strings first then go after the jackass with the knife. 

Feuilly let out a strangled hiss and Grantaire felt his fingers graze over his shoulder as he raced away. Grantaire got three punches in, with one of the guys on the ground, before anyone else tried to retaliate. The pain from his arm caused his ears to ring and his vision started to go fuzzy but he was here for a reason and his friends were not getting hurt. 

Feuilly blocked the first spell and then Grantaire accidentally dodged the second when he grabbed the bald man around the shoulders. It hit the wall, turning the plaster to embers upon impact. 

Someone elbowed him directly in the back and he went down hard, gasping for air. Someone threw themself on top of him and it took him longer than it should have to realize it was Joly shielding him from the spells being thrown back and forth. 

“Stay down, what the fuck did you do to your arm.” 

“I didn’t. Combeferre did.” 

“That distinction means less than you’re hoping it does.” 

Grantaire let out a dramatic sigh that turned into a pained whine when Joly pressed them both into the ground, swearing. His ears rang and for several long moments the only thing he could do was cling to consciousness.

“For the love of—” Prouvaire shouted and then there was a crash. “Stay there!”

“Are we winning?” Grantaire whispered.

Musichetta screamed loudly and then the room went still. Grantaire sat up, trying to find his roommate and—Bossuet had his arms around her and the pair was smiling. 

Joly pulled away from him and then threw his arms around him in a hug. “Holy fuck, you’re okay.” 

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” Grantaire sighed, he peaked over Joly’s shoulders. Whatever Musichetta had done had knocked everyone flat on their ass and Bahorel was currently binding their wrists with the spell he liked to use when someone was getting on his nerves. It temporarily bound both their wrists and their magic. Useful in everyday situations like this and whatever else he got up to in his spare time. 

“I’m fine.” Joly hugged him tighter and then went off to find the others. Grantaire watched everyone move around him, and Courfeyrac knelt down in front of him. 

“R, don’t take this the wrong way but I have the weirdest crush on you right now.” Grantaire glanced at him and used him to get back to his feet and stumbled back to the Enjolras and Combeferre. Courfeyrac must have made an offended face because he then whispered, “Fuck, Combeferre and Enjolras.” He was on his heels a moment later. 

Courfeyrac slung his arm around his back and hoisted him up straighter. 

“Oh thanks,” Grantaire said, slightly surprised at how much he needed the support. 

He muttered under his breath as they made it back to Combeferre and Enjolras. Joly was already fretting about them and had bandaged the nasty cut on Combeferre’s head. Grantaire didn’t know if he owed Combeferre an apology or not for that. “Is he awake?”

Joly looked over to him, “he’s awake but out of it.” 

“I’m surprised to see you standing upright,” Enjolras told him blankly. Grantaire went to sit next to him and his legs gave way. Enjolras only just caught him. He raised his eyebrows and looked away. 

“I’ll have you know, I was appropriately badass. Not so much as Musichetta, but then again there’s no match for her.” 

Enjolras hummed and Grantaire leaned into him. Damn, he did not feel good at all. Combeferre didn’t look much better but with the bandages around his head and his hand covering his eyes, he almost looked regal. Show off. To make up for it, he showed Enjolras his cracked knuckles. Enjolras glanced at them and looked away again without any sympathy. “I still can’t use my legs so I can’t carry you.” 

“That’s alright. When I started throwing fists back there, Courfeyrac started to get a little turned on so I’m sure he’ll carry me home.” 

“Seriously?” Enjolras asked Courfeyrac evenly. 

“Oh you are not the one to judge me for this.” Courfeyrac whispered, sitting on the ground next to Combeferre. Combeferre managed a small smile that light Courfeyrac’s face up and he said something to Courfeyrac that Grantaire couldn’t hear. 

“I never thought Combeferre was—” 

Grantaire nudged him to give them some space, “So when someone helps us get somewhere alone. We need to talk.” 

“You can stay over if you like.” 

Joly scoffed like he hadn’t been the one they had risked life and limb to come rescue. “That’s bold of you to assume I’m letting you alone tonight. I’ve half a mind to take you to the A&E right now. What did they do to your legs?” 

Enjolras made another little humming noise as if he had forgotten. Forgotten that his lower body was paralyzed. He couldn’t fucking believe him. 

“We’re going to the A&E,” Joly told them blankly and then sirens sounded on the street and soon the windows were filled with flashing lights. “Oh, very well timed.” 

Enjolras glared at him like he had summoned them with a word. Well, Grantaire didn’t know, he might have? “Your sister called them when I told her Combeferre was unconscious and you were back in your body.” 

“How did you know I was me?” Grantaire looked to the others. “He didn’t even ask, he just _knew_.” Musichetta rolled her eyes and turned away from him, going to look out one of the windows instead. 

“It was easy to notice once I knew what I was looking for,” Enjolras said and he grabbed onto the windowsill like he was going to try to pull himself up. He could go ahead and try to impress the EMT’s, Grantaire was going to wait right here on the ground. 

Bahorel and Prouvaire appeared at the top of the steps followed by the paramedics right as Enjolras started to put weight on his right leg. It of course gave out and he fell onto Grantaire with a curse. 

“Hey,” Grantaire smiled down at him and Enjolras had to look away before he smiled back. 

“So that’s Enjolras, he’s the biggest pain in the ass. I would call dibs on Joly because he’s the most cheerful and he used to be a med student so he knows when to stay out of your way. Combeferre was also a med student but he will get _in_ your way because he thinks he knows better and Grantaire has some dark magic that’s been trying to kill him since he was a kid so I’d honestly just leave him alone,” Bahorel explained to the paramedics who may or may not have been listening. 

The shorter woman knelt down in front of Grantaire. “Hi, my name’s Irma and I’m not afraid of a little dark magic.” 

“Up until a few minutes ago, Combeferre and I were body-swapped as well.” 

“Seriously? What the fuck?” She blurted out as more sirens sounded in the street. 

“Irma,” Her partner hissed but she just pulled a glass out of her bag and held it up to him. 

“Matelote, check this out. Which one is Combeferre?”

“Regal one with the bandage.” Grantaire told her helpfully. 

“Interesting.” She muttered before the police showed up and she injected him with a strong painkiller potion Grantaire was pretty sure he was groggily asking the recipe to. 

* * *

Grantaire woke up in the emergency room feeling excellent. Bossuet was next to him and Enjolras was on his other side. Feuilly was on the bottom of the bed, legs crossed. Everyone else was scattered around him. 

Joly paced back and forth at the bottom of the bed on his phone, “Charlene, I’m fine. R’s fine. Nothing even happened. Can’t we just visit the A&E on a Wednesday night if we want?” He glanced over to Grantaire and smiled when he saw he was awake, “oh, we woke him. I—yes. Yes, goodnight. I will.” 

Joly put his phone in his pocket and Bossuet laughed, “I didn’t think she was going to let you get off that phone until she walked into the hospital.” 

Joly glared behind him before coming to stand by the bed, “She better not. Charlene sends her love but I fear Sonia is already on a plane.” 

“So this really is strike three.” Grantaire sighed and Joly nodded solemnly. 

“What do you mean strike three?” Enjolras yawned. Grantaire glanced around but no one was paying the three grown men in the hospital bed any mind. 

“If you don’t remember, I’m not reminding you.” 

Enjolras looked at him evenly and then just said, “oh.” Just that. Just _oh_. 

Time to change the subject. “What happened with the police?” 

“Dealt with,” Feuilly and Enjolras chorused and Grantaire took that as his cue to just not ask. Feuilly was shuffling his cards on his knee. “Everyone’s alright. We’re just waiting on the okay from the nurses that you and Combeferre can go home.” 

“He’s alright?” Grantaire asked, peering around Enjolras to see him. Combeferre was on the bed next to him with his eyes shut but Prouvaire was draped across his leg, reading something on his phone. Courfeyrac was tucked up next to him like they were at home.

“He seems okay and no one’s told us anything alarming,” Feuilly said with a shrug but the edge to his voice betrayed his concern. 

Léonie came over, claiming an empty spot next to Feuilly on the edge of the bed, “Oh, pull a card for my love life,” she said, tapping the top of the deck. 

“King of wands.” He flipped it and she took it from his hand to peer at it. 

“Oh yikes.” She glanced at him and they shared a smile. Prouvaire caught Grantaire’s eye and raised his eyebrows. Grantaire simply didn’t know what he meant. 

“When did you get here?” 

“Little while ago, I was with your friend Eponine at the police station. The curse and the abduction were orchestrated by the man your candidate booted from office last night, by the way. But I don’t think you care.” 

“Did I bet on it?”

“No.” Bossuet shook his head sadly. 

“Then, yeah, I don’t really care. Joly’s back and I didn’t kill Combeferre so I don’t care about anything.” 

Joly sighed and sank into the only unoccupied chair left. “I’m still fine. Thanks again for almost dying rescuing me. I know Léonie’s the reason you all found me so fast in the first place.” 

Léonie blew him a kiss and he winked back at her. 

“So Enjolras, think you’ll let me have my arm back any time soon?” Grantaire asked, looked over to him. 

Enjolras tightened his grip on his arm, “Oh please, you literally used Combeferre’s magic to summon your worst nightmare when I told you I love you,” Enjolras sighed and Joly gasped, he twisted around in the chair and nearly slipped right out of it. Feuilly and Leonie looked up sharply and Bossuet nearly knocked himself off the bed. 

“You told him you love him?” Joly’s smile was so wide Grantaire _almost_ wanted to hit him. 

Grantaire looked away so Enjolras knew he was answering that one and watched Courfeyrac brush a strand of hair out of Combefere’s eyes. Huh, he was kinda due for a haircut himself wasn’t he? Courfeyrac looked up, a very pointed frown on his face. “Everyone be quiet. Combeferre’s sleeping and this is an emergency room.” It was a small miracle he wasn’t paying attention to their conversation. 

“If Grantaire's awake, he can be awake,” Joly’s voice was sharp but kind and he turned back to Enjolras, still twisted oddly in his seat, Bossuet kept eying him to see if he was going to fall. “I _thought_ you were being evasive.” 

“I—“

“When you’re being weird with him, you're super weird with us as well,” Bossuet told him and then smiled at Enjolras’ betrayed glance. 

Joly frowned. “It’s super insulting.”

Enjolras shrugged as well as he could half curled up against Grantaire. “You don’t keep secrets.” Grantaire wondered if this show of affection meant he wasn’t mad at him anymore.

“If you asked nicely we’d be quiet for a couple days.” Joly pouted. 

“You really think our loyalty is a one way street?” Bossuet continued and Musichetta, who was sitting near the door the their room, didn’t even look up from her phone. She was probably keeping Charlene and Sonia in the loop. Not to mention Cosette and Marius, where were--oh--they were on the other side of Combeferre’s bed. Cosette gave him a tight smile when he caught her eye. 

Joly gasped as he realized the implication of Enjolras’ silence. “Wait, yeah. What are you doing? I can keep secrets from R if it’s in his best interest not to know. Or mine!” 

Bossuet shot Joly a warning look but Joly was offended and unstoppable and Grantaire was forced to brace himself for some unwelcome news. 

“We never told you because we didn’t want you to get all hypocritically pissy but L and I totally dated in secret for a year.” 

“Almost a year,” Léonie muttered, looking at the chipped polish on her left hand. 

“Dolos has been at my bedside all along.” Grantaire sighed. 

“Keep going, Dionysus, maybe you'll get an audience and we can charge to pay our hospital bills.” 

Grantaire glanced around but the only possible audience were young interns who couldn’t afford his artistry. So he decided to skip the theatrics and focus on honesty. “This is going to be the weirdest, most desperate thing you’re ever going to hear me say.” 

“Not if I get my way,” Enjolras deadpanned and the heart monitor did this funky little beat that had Marius and Courfeyrac sharing a gleeful glance and Bahorel straight up left the room. 

Grantaire looked to Enjolras and forced the words out, “I don’t feel like myself if you don’t love me.” 

The room positively exploded and Grantaire forced himself to continue. 

“I didn’t notice it because I took all the little things for granted. But being Combeferre for a weekend made it perfectly clear that, well one it’s weird as fuck to have Courfeyrac mooning over me.” 

“Stop, you’re making me nauseous,” Courfeyrac whispered, somehow managing to look stricken despite the smile. 

“And two, it just feels natural and I rely on you being there. It’s like when Courfeyrac puts in an extra pump of hazelnut or when Joly puts a new box of Hello Kitty bandaids into ‘Chetta’s purse. Could I live without all the little things you do for me? Yeah. But do I want to? Hell no, this weekend has been terrible.” 

A small smile formed on Enjolras’ lips and he rolled his eyes. A nurse walked into their room and by the way she smiled at them, it was clear she had been dealing with them for a while. 

“Alright,” The nurse said, looking at the lot of them with a bit more cheer than they probably deserved. “We just got the results back and the pair of you are good to go. What happened was the curse on Gaëtan detected Jourdain as a threat and tried to kick him out of his body--effectively trying to kill him but you two switched back in time and you’re fine. There’s nothing left for us to do.” 

“Wait--” Grantaire began because everyone seemed to have taken that bit of news in stride, “Curse?”

The nurse looked to him and smiled kindly, “when you were a child, your magic was twisted into a curse and bound inside of you. The tests showed that it isn’t dangerous to you, in fact, it might have saved your life once or twice. I gave your sister and boyfriend a list of specialists you can go to.”

“Oh. Alright. Thanks.” Grantaire as his friends whispered around him. 

She clapped her hands together and looked around, “If the rest of you would like to wait outside we’ll get these two out just as soon as this one wakes—oh.” 

Courfeyrac shook Combeferre awake none too gently and pointedly ignored everyone else. 

“We’ve got the go ahead to go home,” he said quietly and then kissed Combeferre on the brow before sliding to his feet. “We’ll get the car running.”

* * *

They did not, in fact, have the car running by the time Grantaire and Combeferre made it out because they were all too busy deciding what they were going to do next. By now it was the middle of the Uma-forsaken night and Grantaire really just wanted to get back under the covers so he made the executive decision to drag everyone back to his flat for the night. They all piled into the common area with pillows and blankets and sleeping bags. 

Of course, now that he was tucked away under blankets with Enjolras on one side of him as if that was completely natural, sleep decided to forsake him. The room was quiet and Combeferre stirred. Of course he wouldn’t be as tired as the rest of them, he had slept through nearly all of his A&E visit. 

“Next election is going to be a piece of cake.” 

Scoffing, Grantaire tried to readjust his legs without jostling Prouvaire. “If it weren’t for the threatening letter and Joly being kidnapped, I could almost believe this was a fairy godmother plot to make us stop being such oblivious asses.”

“I can’t believe Enjolras said he was going to make you beg for it in the middle of the trauma ward.” 

Bahorel snorted and then rolled over. “Shut up, I’m trying to sleep.” 

“Don’t eavesdrop on our private conversation then,” Grantaire hissed and Enjolras tugged at the blankets in his sleep. Grantaire let them go without a fight and, honestly, Enjolras should appreciate this because Grantaire’s blanket charity was not going to last. Joly started giggling and Grantaire sighed. They were all going to be tired in the morning. 

“Joly. Stop giggling and go to bed,” Combeferre scolded him lightly but like the chickenpox in a gaggle of eight year olds, Joly’s laugh was contagious. Prouaire was laughing a moment later. “Jehan, what are you laughing about?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.” 

“Joly…” Grantaire warned and Joly giggled for a moment longer, gasping as he tried to find his words. “You had magic for the first time in your life and the only magical feat of note was to attract your least favorite animal to a web cam. Which is— _unprecedented_ —magic—“ Joly subcommed to his laughter and Grantaire sighed. 

“Laugh it up.” 

“I am!” Joly cackled. 

“We risked our lives to save you today.” 

“You—you—” but whatever he was trying to say got lost to the laughter. 

“Are you super excited to see your hands?” Combeferre asked softly. 

Feuilly whispered a softer, “What?” before he and Cosette started whispering. 

“I’m just glad I won’t have to look at my own face anymore,” Grantaire sighed and of course that’s when Enjolras decided to stir awake next to him. 

“Oh, I agree with you—I think my grip on reality started slipping every time I had to look at myself from across the room. It was a 24-7 out of body experience and I don’t think people are meant to go through that.”

“Grantaire, I need to talk to you,” Enjolras said quietly, ignoring the giggles and whispers of their friends. 

“In the morning, okay.”

Enjolras shook his head. “No I can’t sleep, I have to talk to you now.” Grantaire and everyone else who was currently eavesdropping chose to remain silent—Enjolras had been so asleep he had been snoring slightly. Enjolras kicked the blanket off of him and Grantaire and carefully pulled him to his feet. He tiptoed his way though his friends who did nothing to help him but whisper _don’t step on me_ or in Bahorel’s case swat at his foot before he could step on him. Enjolras pulled him into his bedroom and shut the door to laughter and excited whispers. Grantaire almost wished he had dragged him literally anywhere else. 

Enjolras pulled his hair back away from his face and then stretched his hands out in front of him. “Okay, there’s a lot we need to talk about but—“

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire began. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away. I’m sorry I let you think I was Combeferre, that I didn’t stop you when you said you thought you were in love with me. I’m sorry—“

“Why do you think I said that?” Enjolras said suddenly. “Why do you think I suddenly started acting strange. I wasn’t worried about the election. We’ve been polling well for weeks.”

Grantaire’s eyes went wide. “You figured us out?”

Enjolras smiled and looked altogether a little too proud of himself. 

“You—you said that to get back at me.” Grantaire took a step back and felt impressed of all things. 

“Well—not really get back at you but it was easier to tell you when l—thought we could just pretend it never happened.” Enjolras winced. 

Grantaire pursed his lips and put a hand on his hip. “Huh. But that still doesn’t negate that I lied to you. I betrayed your trust. I lied about who I was when you are the last person I should do that to.” 

Enjolras rolled his eyes and opened the door, “Hey, can someone come in here and tell Grantaire he hasn’t been lying to me about who he is?”

“Grantaire!” Bahorel called but it was Joly who kicked the door open a little more with his cane. 

“Honey, I love you but you are being so fucking rediculous right now.” He reached into his pocket and then threw something that hit Grantaire in the face before Enjolras caught it. The door shut without saying anything else. 

“Is that a truth tea?”

“No it’s a condom.” Enjolras’ voice was flat and he crossed his arms as he sent a withering glare at the door. 

“One?” Grantaire frowned then raised his voice, “One!” 

“Do I look like a vending machine?” Joly called back, muffled and someone started laughing but Grantaire couldn’t make out who. 

“I don’t even want to guess why he had that in his pocket. It’s four thirty in the morning and we’re all in the common room,” Enjolras sighed, leaning back against the dresser. 

“Do you know that for a fact or—”

“Cosette was checking her phone when I dragged you in here.” 

“I hope everyone’s already called out of work because there is absolutely no way I’m waking up before it’s dark again. I need to check with Combeferre to see if I have work tomorrow, how sad is that? What day is it even?” 

“Just—” Enjolras began, shutting his eyes for a moment before taking Grantaire’s hands. He sat them both down on the edge of the bed and he shut his eyes again, tilting his head back. “—can we sit—no actually, can we just lay here and talk until one of us—probably me because you were unconscious for the majority of the afternoon—falls asleep?” He tossed the condom onto the dresser and pulled his legs up onto the bed. He wrapped the comforter around him the wrong way and put his head on the pillow. Grantaire grabbed the quilt that had been knocked to the floor at some point—he wished he could blame Combeferre but it had been one hundred percent him—and crawled into bed next to him. 

“For someone who was all talk about needing sleep, you sure are staring at me a little too much.” 

“I’m not going to apologize,” Enjolras frowned, taking his hands in his. “I thought I was going to lose you. You went down hard in Combeferre’s body and then he went down harder as you. Then you woke up looking like hell and went off with your arm hanging useless at your side, dripping blood as you went.”Grantaire grimaced and Enjolras tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. “ _Yeah_ and I was temporarily semi-paralyzed from the waist down or whatever it was that they said, I really didn’t listen—”

“See, I don’t think you really get to lecture me when you say things like that.” 

“I’m not lecturing you. I was useless and it wasn’t just you and Combeferre it was everyone. It was Joly who vanished faster than one of Bossuet’s new socks, it was Bahorel whose hands literally caught fire.”

“It was kind of badass, honestly, to see him go Harry Potter on that guy’s face.” 

“I’m sorry, he did what.” 

“No, um, nope, you can take that up with him.” Grantaire let the conversation drift off and he was on his way back to sleep when Enjolras spoke again.

“I thought I was going to lose you both. I didn’t know what to do. You were both hurt and I don’t know what was more dangerous, the curse unraveling or the wounds.” 

“I want to say the wounds because these stitches hurt like a son of a bitch but… it did get pretty weird for a couple minutes so who knows. Combeferre broke his leg on the roof of the Louvre, by the way, what the hell was he doing up there? Neither the curse or the fight were great on my skin. I think I broke out a little from the stress.” 

Enjolras smiled a very, very, very small smile. But it was there so it counted. 

“Can we just lay here and not talk about this terrible day. My best friend was kidnapped.”

“Yeah, we can do whatever you like.” Enjolras smiled sadly and then propped his head up on his fist to look down at him. 

“I’m okay with you watching me all night, but just so you know, eventually someone’s going to check in on us and I don’t want you to ruin your reputation on my behalf.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I don’t need your help in ruining my reputation.”

“Really?” Grantaire said, interested in what Enjolras had been saying behind his back.

Enjolras shook his head to let him know he wasn’t going to talk about it, “You know that I meant what I said, right? That I’m in love with you?” 

“You know that I love you too, right?” Grantaire asked automatically and then realized what he said. Enjolras’ eyes lit up and he leaned down and kissed him slowly. Grantaire reached up and pulled Enjolras closer to him, content to lay like this for the rest of time. 

Enjolras pulled away to search his eyes, "I think we still have to talk more in the morning, but I've honestly forgotten what was so important about any of it." He kissed him again. 

"Less talking please." Grantiare said, pushing himself up a little so that he could kiss Enjolras again when he pulled away. Enjolras smiled against his lips and he ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly. Grantiare moaned despite himself. Enjolras broke the kiss and pulled away to say something. 

Whatever he was going to say was drowned out by a loud commotion in the common room. The front door slammed open and someone was shouting.

Enjolras jumped up, half shielding Grantaire with his body. 

But--they weren't in danger, at least not the kind Enjolras could protect him from. 

"I think that's Sonia." Grantiare whispered, letting himself fall back down into the pillows. Couldn't he have just spent the night kissing Enjolras? He shut his eyes to relish the fact that was something he could do now. 

Enjolras looked to him, "Joly's sister?" 

"The very same." Grantaire groaned and he groaned again when Enjolras grabbed his hands and pulled him up. "Can't you just lock the door and let them deal with her?"

"She came all this way to make sure you and Joly were safe, we're going to say hello." Enjolras smiled and Grantaire was powerless to resist. He let him drag him to his feet and together they walked to the bedroom door. Grantaire opened it and Enjolras caught his wrist. He pulled him back into his arms and kissed him again, "you're okay." 

Grantaire looked to him and smiled, "we're okay." 

**Author's Note:**

> Grantaire and Combeferre show up a couple weeks later with matching anti-possession tattoos and they think they're hilarious. 
> 
> SO! This fic came about because I dramatically sang along to Someone You Loved by Lewis Capaldi one too many times on the way home from work ( _I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved_ ). I don't think I can adequately express how much I needed this big bang in my life right now. Whenever I needed a distraction I could pull up this fic where the main problem was one I already knew the solution to and sitting there thinking how to fix a plot hole or two always calmed me down enough to keep going. I mean, I think you can tell by the wordcount on this thing that I needed a LOT of breaks. I cannot wait to see everyone else's works--right now everything is quiet for me but any day things could start up again so I'm really grateful I have so many things to distract myself with.


End file.
